


Haven

by SageFic



Series: Daughters of Andraste [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Multi, POV Multiple, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tough Questions about Kirkwall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:48:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 256,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3439310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageFic/pseuds/SageFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b> To my longtime readers and fans: <i>thank you</i> for your support! </b><br/><b>And to my new readers: Welcome! I hope you enjoy my fiction!</b><br/><br/><span class="u">HAVEN: Part 1 of Daughters of Andraste</span><br/><i>In which the Herald learns to rise to the occasion, her charming cousin tries for Cassandra, her Dalish friend causes mayhem, and Cullen is competent, gruff, and yet adorkable.</i> </p><p>Kate Trevelyan, mage and earnest, genteel nerd, travels to the Conclave with Colleen Lavellen, an ex-Dalish-turned-librarian, and Robert Trevelyan, her charming smuggler cousin. But when the Divine's peace talks explode, Robert falls in with bad company, Coll finds herself chasing mercs, and Kate becomes...the Herald of Andraste? Sort of. Kate has absolutely NO idea what she’s doing, and her growing attraction to a certain former templar isn’t helping.</p><p><b>Welcome to a lore-friendly re-imagining of Dragon:Age Inquisition, with multiple 'ships, divergent plotlines, an interweaving of both in-game and original characters, humor, angst, fluffy romance and ALL the feels. </b>  Mobile friendly version available at <a href="http://sagefic.com/">SageFic.com</a> thanks to my lovely husband Bladwarden.</p><p>Enjoy!<br/>-sage</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Apostasy and Piracy

* * *

 

1st of Bloomingtide, 9:23 Dragon (or, 18 years ago)

* * *

 

It was Summerday and the roses were frozen.

A sheet of ice coated the entire back garden. Blooms of red and pink stood preserved as if under a layer of spun glass. A honeybee lay trapped against the petals of an embrium blossom, and the central fountain had stopped, mid-spray. At the edge of the path, the marble statue of Andraste sparkled under a dusting of frost.

It was pretty neat, actually. Robert Trevelyan grinned, then snapped off one of the frozen roses that grew at Andraste’s feet. Robert had always liked roses. They were pretty and prickly, all at the same time. He knew boys weren’t supposed to like things like flowers, but he always had. Coated in ice, the rose looked even more interesting. It looked like it might stay fresh forever.

Looking down, Robert spotted another interesting flower. A single blossom of Golden Grace grew at the base of the statue, overlooked by the gardeners. Robert plucked up the little weed and held it up to the light. Through the ice, the petals glowed like amber. When Robert glanced up, he noticed that the statue of Andraste was looking down at him. The sun sparkled off her lips and she seemed to be smiling at him.

Robert smiled back. He’d take that as a good sign. As for the rest of the signs, he could read _those_ easily enough.

Robert placed the flowers in his coat pocket, shifted his pack on his shoulders, and set off across the gardens. The first part of the trail was simple. There was a clear line of ice on the path that quickly faded to a thinner line of snow. Once the snow ended, Robert just followed the footprints. The markings were about the size of his own feet, the toes dug in deeply and the heels not even touching the ground. Clearly, Robert thought, those feet had been running.

Robert glanced over his shoulder, noting that the garden was still empty and the Trevelyan House appeared quiet. Robert knew better. Within those stone walls, it was chaos. Someone had been shouting for smelling salts and someone else was crying and there were a lot of servants standing about, all whispering to one another. Robert had slipped out of the manor rather easily. He suspected that no one had even noticed that the cause of that uproar had already fled.

Robert hurried now, passing raised beds of white lotus and delphiniums, carnations and crystal grace. He quickly came to the edge of the gardens, where the gravel path disappeared down a small embankment and then gave way to a wide lawn. At the far end of the grass was a field of barley. To the south, Robert could see a shimmering inlet, winding its way out to the sea, but to the north stood a large copse of beech trees. Behind them, a pine forest marched off into the hills, and far in the distance lay the snow-capped peaks of the Vimmark Mountains.

Robert didn’t hesitate. Even if he hadn’t seen the footprints fading off toward the north, he would have known where to go. After all, _he_ had been the one to find the hiding spot in the first place.

Robert did his best to walk lightly, as he’d been taught. There were, he supposed, a few good things to be learned from the so-called ‘noble art’ of hunting. The killing part he could do without, but he did like the tracking bit. Within a minute, Robert was in the forest. He wound his way deeper and deeper into the wood - over root, under branch, until at last, he came to a small clearing.

There was a little stream here, and a bridge. The bridge was just two small logs over the water, but it was all Robert could manage when he’d built the thing two years ago. Now that he was nine, he could probably craft something better. But then, Robert realized, he wouldn’t have to. He was never coming back _here_ again.

With that thought, Robert’s eyes went to the two rocks on the far end of the bridge. He had rolled them into this clearing last summer: two seats to serve two friends. Right now, one of the rock-chairs was occupied. A young girl sat on the stone, her head buried in her hands. Her long skirts were covered in mud, as were the toes of her slippers. Her shoulders shook and she was making the most horrible snuffling and weeping sounds that Robert had ever heard.

Well, Robert thought, that wouldn’t do. His cousin never cried. He couldn’t very well let her start _now_.

“It’s alright Kate,” he called to her. “I’m here.”

Far from comforting Kate, this pronouncement seemed to alarm the girl even more. She looked up, revealing a reddened, tear-stained face. While Robert had dark hair, brown skin and striking eyes of Rivani gold, Kate was fair, with fire-red hair and eyes of muddy gray-green. But ignoring the differences in coloring, the two had very similar features. They shared the same straight nose, the same high cheekbones, the same long lashes and the same tendency to freckle from even the smallest exposure to sun.

Kate looked at Robert with wide eyes and held out a hand in warning.

“Go away, Robert,” she said, her voice breaking on a sob.

Robert just ignored her demand. He placed one foot in front of the other, balancing his way over the bridge, then jumped off the logs to land right in front of his cousin.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Kate said, scrambling off of her rock and backing away.

“I know that,” Robert replied. He plopped himself down on other stone. “And I know you won’t.”

“I might,” Kate swallowed. “You saw what I did to the garden.”

“I did,” Robert said. “It was incredible.”

“Incredible?” Kate blinked at him in surprise, her voice a squeak. “Robert it was… I cast…”

“Magic,” he finished for her. “I know.” He fished the two flowers out of his pocket, then frowned as he realized they had already begun to thaw and wilt.

“Aw,” he frowned. “They were prettier frozen.” Kate just stared at him.

“But,” she said, slowly, “I cast a _spell_.” She said it like it was a dirty word, the kind of word they sometimes overheard their older cousins say, but were cautioned never to repeat.

“I know,” Robert nodded. “Ice on everything.” He cocked his head at her. “With your hair, I would have expected you to cast fire.”

Kate shook her head miserably.

“I like ice better,” he added quickly, hoping that would make her feel better. “Seems more useful. And less dangerous.”

“It’s _all_ dangerous,” Kate wailed. “I killed the entire garden just by running through it.”

“The flowers die every winter anyhow,” Robert shrugged. “The gardeners can replant.”

“Robert…” Kate’s despair momentarily gave way to a more frustrated expression. Robert decided that was a good thing. He quickly held out the flowers.

“Can you do it again?” he asked.

Kate opened her mouth as if to protest, but Robert cut her off.

“Go on,” he said, eagerly. “I want to see.”

“Magic is evil,” Kate murmured, speaking more to the flowers than to him.

”‘Magic exists to serve man’,” Robert said, quoting the one of the many Canticles that had been drilled into them as children. “And this would serve me. I’m a man. So there you go.”

“You’re a boy,” Kate corrected, her eyes narrowing. “And I’m pretty sure that isn’t what Andraste meant when she said that.”

“Why not? Go on, Katie. I want to see it.”

Kate looked at Robert doubtfully, then back at the flowers. She raised her hand, reached out for them, then dropped her arm to her side.

“No,” she said. “I can’t do it. I might…” She shook her head. “I only touched the fountain and then…”

“Come on, Katie,” Robert said. “I know you can do this.”

Kate looked at him, then at the flowers. As cautiously as if she was reaching for an open flame, Kate stretched out her hand. She took the flowers between her thumb and forefinger, and held them up before her face. Robert watched as her gray-green eyes narrowed, her red brows furrowing in concentration.

For a moment, there was nothing. Robert waited patiently. It never occurred to him that Kate might fail at this. After all, Kate was ten, a full year older than Robert. She was better at chess, faster at climbing trees, and just as good on horseback as he was. Robert might be the faster runner and better with a bow, but Kate was clever. He knew she would succeed.

His cousin didn’t disappoint him. Slowly at first, but then with growing speed, frost began to form on the flowers. Little silver crystals stretched out like sprouting grass, flickering out from stem and petals until both the rose and the wildflower were coated in a fine, sparkling sheen. After a moment, Kate let out a breath and stared at her work.

“You did it,” Robert said, grinning.

“I guess I did,” she said, her voice soft and filled with wonder. Robert thought she almost looked pleased. Shyly, Kate tucked her hair behind her ear. With the other hand, she held the flowers out to Robert.

“Amazing,” Robert said, taking only the rose. “I wish I could do that.”

“No you don’t,” Kate said, her face falling as she considered the wildflower still in her fingers. She sighed, then sat down on her rock. She placed her elbows on her knees, the wildflower stem clasped between her pressed palms. She slowly rubbed one hand against the other, making the flower spin between them. In the thick copse of trees, the only sound was the trickle of the little stream.

“Mother cried,” Kate said after a moment. Her voice came out very small.

“She was still crying when I left,” Robert idly poked at one of the frozen thorns on his rose.

“She said the Maker cursed me.” The words were a whisper, ragged and hurt. Kate’s wildflower stopped spinning. “She said I must make peace with my fate.”

“Aunt Evelyn doesn’t speak for the Maker,” Robert told her. “My father said so.”

Kate stared into nothing.

Robert frowned. Whenever his cousin got that wide-eyed, absentminded stare, Robert never knew what to expect. Kate could sit like that for a second and then suddenly make up her mind about something. Some of their best and worst misadventures had begun with that far-off look. But other times, Kate could stare like that for an hour and then say that she had been thinking nothing at all. Robert wasn’t sure if that was something Kate did because she was a girl, or something she did because she had always been a little strange. Then again, he supposed it might be something she did because she was a mage.

“Well,” Robert said, willing her to snap out of it, “What does it matter? I mean, who cares if you’re a mage? You’re still _you_.”

“Don’t _say_ it,” Kate said, her face falling. Robert frowned at her.

“What?” he asked. “That you’re still you?”

“No! That I’m a…”

“Mage?”

Kate took a great gulping breath. “Now they’re all afraid of me,” she breathed.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Robert said, stoutly.

“You should be,” Kate told him. “I can cast magic. Demons will try and use me. And I’ve already started to have dreams of the Fade. Dreams where I _know_ I’m in the Fade.” She stared at her wildflower, her reddish brows furrowing.

“I can feel it, Robert,” she said, solemnly. “I’ve always been able to feel it. I didn’t know what it was before, but it was there. It felt a bit like the wind, only it was there even when the air was still. And now, all of a sudden, it’s different. Now, it’s like I can reach into the Fade. I can use it to change things in _this_ world. I can grab hold of it with my…” She placed a hand on her chest.

“Boobies?” Robert suggested.

“No,” she scowled at him. “My _heart_.”

“Oh.”

“The point _is_ Robert,” Kate said, sounding once again like her lofty old self, “I could _kill_ someone. With my magic.” She gave him a pointed look, as if to emphasize how very serious this was. Robert just shrugged in reply.

“So what?” he said. “Uncle Maxwell was going to train us to become templars. Templars kill people. How is that any different?”

Kate opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “It just _is_ ,” she replied. Robert rolled his eyes. Sometimes, Kate could be just as stuffy as all the other Trevelyans. Thankfully, she usually got over it. But the rest of them were always serious. And that was why Robert was out here now.

“You don’t have to be a mage,” he told her.

“I will _not_ become Tranquil,” Kate said, shuddering as she looked over at him. “You remember that one we met in the market, selling enchanted rings? I won’t end up like that, cut off from dreams and all dead inside. I _won’t_.”

“Of course you won’t,” Robert said. “I won’t let them.” But Kate wasn’t listening. She swallowed and her shoulders began to shake again.

“They’re going to take me away, Robert,” she said, miserably. “They’ll take me away, and put me in a tower and I’ll never…” She buried her head in her hands again, and Robert could think of only one thing to say to make her stop.

“I won’t let that happen,” he told her.

Kate said something, but as her hands were over her face, Robert couldn’t understand it. He didn’t need to hear it anyhow. He said again:

“I won’t let that happen.” He pulled his pack from his back and began opening it. “After all, they can’t send you to the Circle if they can’t find you.”

“What do you mean?” Kate said, looking up and wiping her nose. Robert reached into his bag and handed her a wad of clothing.

“We’re going to run away,” he told her.

“What?” Kate stared at him, then at the clothes in her hand. “Robert, I can’t…”

“ _You_ don’t want to go to the Circle,” Robert explained. “And _I_ don’t want you to go to the Circle. And I don’t want to become a templar, either, so…”

“You have years of training before you become a templar,” Kate said. “Anyhow, they can’t _make_ you take vows. But me, I have no choice…”

“Sure you do,” Robert said, holding open his pack. “Look. I have what we need: clothes, sleeping roll, some food, all the money I could steal.”

“You _stole_ from our parents?”

“The locks on Uncle Max’s desk were easy to pick,” Robert said. “Anyhow, it’s your money, if you think about it. Since you’re a mage, you can’t get married. So they won’t have to pay for your dowry now.”

That was evidently the wrong thing to say, for Kate’s face screwed up and went red like she would start crying again.

“Anyhow, that’s not the point,” Robert said quickly. “I have my bow and arrows and you have your magic. We’ll head down the coast or into the mountains. There are lots of caves out there.”

“You want to live in a cave?” Kate sniffed, “Like a pirate?”

“We always wanted to be pirates,” Robert said.

“Not _really_ ,” Kate said, doubtfully.

“Why not?” Robert shrugged. “Just put on those clothes. You can’t run away in a dress.”

“Robert, this isn’t a game,” Kate said, sighing. “I _have_ to go to the Circle. That’s just what mages _do_.”

“Why?” Robert asked her, growing frustrated by her arguing. “Because your family says so? Because the Chantry says so? Do you really want to be locked away and never be free again?”

“I might find a way out,” Kate said, though she didn’t seem to believe it. She looked at the clothing, then looked at the flower. “Some mages get to visit home, I hear. Some of them can leave if they get permission. It might not be that bad…”

With these hesitant words, Robert felt something tighten in his chest, something that just might be fear. He didn’t want to admit that though. Robert hated that emotion more than any other.

“Look,” he said, “If they take you away, then you belong to them - forever. They’ll take your blood for a phylactery so they can track you down if you try and escape. Then someday _I’ll_ be a templar and it might be _me_ who has to track you down.” Robert didn’t mean to go on, but the words came tumbling out anyhow. “Katie,” he said, pleadingly, “you’re more like my sister than my half sisters. If you leave…” He tried to think how to explain himself, but all he could come up with was:

“No one else in this family laughs, Katie. You’re the only one who _laughs._ “

Kate seemed to consider that. She chewed her lip. “Mother laughs,” she said after a moment. “Well, sometimes,” she amended. Kate looked dejectedly at the flower.

“She won’t laugh after this,” Robert said. Kate swallowed and her eyes grew sad.

“I wonder if they ever laugh in the Circle,” she murmured.

“Katie,” Robert pressed. “Someday they’ll make me a templar. Then _I’ll_ never laugh. I won’t laugh, and you won’t be there, and the house will be quiet and it will feel too big. Even if they plant new roses, it won’t be the same.”

He didn’t know how to explain it beyond that.

“Please Katie?” he begged her, looking down at his pack. “Please run?”

Robert looked up to find Kate was gazing off into the woods with that far-off stare again. But this time, it lasted for only a moment.

“You’re right,” Kate said. She set the frozen flower down on the ground beside the stone. “If I have to be a mage, then I might as well be a free one.”

“You’ll do it?” he asked, grinning. “You’ll become an apostate?”

Kate flinched at that word, but she nodded all the same. “Yes,” she said, standing and clutching the borrowed clothing to her chest. “Let’s go.”

“Great!” Robert said, cinching up his pack and slinging it over his shoulder. “You won’t regret this, Kate. Now we can live our lives however we want.”


	2. Wildfire

* * *

1st of August, 9:41 Dragon (or, now)

* * *

It was All Soul’s Day and the wildflowers were on fire.

Kate ignored the blaze. Instead, she stared at the man in bloody robes. He blinked at Kate once, then looked down at the ice shard that Kate had just rammed through his chest.

Kate swallowed and let her hands drop.

Well, that was ghastly, she thought. Ghastly, but effective.

Kate hadn’t meant to make the shard quite that big. She suspected she had punctured both of the man’s lungs and fractured most of his lower ribs. A smaller shard to the heart would have been cleaner and would have used less of her energy. As it was, Kate felt a bit drained.

But that might be a product of shock, she reasoned. Clearly, she was going into shock. Half of her mind had gone cool and rational, assessing the efficacy of her counterattack as if gathering notes for a paper. The other half of her mind was screaming. After all, she had just used her magic to kill someone.

Dear Maker, Kate thought. She had just used her magic to _kill_ someone.

As Kate watched, the man crumpled to the ground with a groan. Behind him, his fires flickered out, their magic extinguished with his life. Kate let out a breath.

Right, she thought. Now, he was dead. Now he was dead and she had killed him and just how was she supposed to feel about that, exactly? Was she supposed to feel different? She didn’t. She felt a bit stunned, but that was all. Still, she mused, she’d just _killed_ someone.

“By the Dread Wolf’s great, hairy bollocks,” a voice spoke into the quiet. “Ice first and ask questions later, aye Kate?”

Kate turned to find her friend, Colleen, standing by with a stunned expression. Coll’s elven face had paled in shock, her tattoos dark as iron upon her skin.

“Not that I’m complainin’, mind,” Coll added, still looking dumbfounded. “If you hadn’t done that, we’d be dead. And what’s more, our books would be burned.”

That would be Coll, Kate thought, always with her priorities in order. But Coll was right. They had been sitting out here just moments ago, reading in the sunshine on a warm summer’s day. It was rare that the small island enjoyed such fair weather. Connected to the Storm Coast by a thin, ancient bridge of Tevinter origin, the Ostwick Circle fortress was most often pounded by rain or shrouded in fog. Kate adored the murky, mysterious days when she could wander the Circle grounds for hours, pretending that she wasn’t a prisoner cut off from the mainland.

But Coll could never be persuaded to set foot outside of the library unless the sun was shining and the wind was still. So it had been a rare thing that the both of them were outside for the afternoon. And it was a completely unexpected that, out of nowhere, someone had run up to them, shooting fire from his fingertips.

Of course, flames weren’t the only thing he’d had in hand.

“Blood magic,” Kate said, crouching by the body. She gingerly took the dead man’s wrist between her thumb and forefinger and turned it over. Coll scowled when she saw the bloody knife clutched in the man’s grip. The man’s other arm was crisscrossed with cuts - both fresh incisions and many more scabs.

“That’s one of the Ansburg lot,” Coll said. “Refugees my arse. We should have known they were up to something.”

At that moment, the bells of the tower began to clang. Kate looked up, taking in the silhouette of the old castle. In all her years here, Kate had never heard the bells ring like that. They tolled to mark the hours, to signal events like Harrowings, to summon the residents to mealtimes. Kate had never heard them ring wildly, as if someone was yanking on all the ropes at once.

“What, are we under attack now?” Coll snorted. “Or have all the refugees gone mad?”

“They can’t all be blood mages,” Kate reasoned.

“Can’t they now?” Coll returned. “‘Cause if they are…” If they were, then Ostwick was in very big trouble. Kate took a step toward the tower, but Coll grabbed her arm.

“Are yeh daft, Kate?” the elf asked her. “If we’re under attack, we should run t’other way.”

“What, off the cliffs and into the sea? Not everyone in the tower can fight, Coll. Not everyone can run, either.”

Maker knew, Kate didn’t mean to defend the Circle out of any great love for the place. It was just that there was nothing else to be done - and there might not be anyone else to do it. As mages, she and Coll had no other option but to stand their ground. They simply had nowhere else to go.

Coll’s brows drew together. Then she threw up her hands in frustration.

“Fine,” she scowled. “At least let me get the books.”

“Leave the books,” Kate told her. “We have bigger things to worry about.” When Coll hesitated, Kate added, “The entire _library_ may be burning.”

“Good point,” Coll said, nodding. They took off at a run.

Kate couldn’t go very fast with her robes twisting and tangling about her legs. She nearly fell on her face twice in her race across the lawn. With a scowl of frustration, she grabbed the hem and hiked it to her knees. As she hurried across the grass, memory popped into Kate’s mind:

On a summer’s day similar to this one, Kate had taken off running across wide fields. But then, Kate had been wearing trousers - and she’d had her cousin with her. As Robert had wisely observed, Kate couldn’t run very well in a dress.

But then, the rest of Robert’s plan hadn’t worked out very well. Robert had learned his tracking skills from his father, and Uncle Edwin spotted their trail easily enough. The would-be apostates had been run to ground by nightfall. The morning after their attempted escape, Kate found herself in a coach bound for the Ostwick Circle and Robert…

Well, Robert was Robert. He had landed on his feet well enough.

Kate was drawn from these thoughts by the sudden quiet. The bells stopped ringing. The silence was more alarming than the alarm had been. Kate slowed her steps as she approached the low walls of the castle gardens. She carefully crept through the pumpkin patch and poked her head cautiously around the high tangle of blackcurrant bushes. Then, she stopped short.

“Oh, Maker,” she breathed.

With reverent steps, Kate entered the garden. Two bodies lay among the tomato plants, half a barrel’s worth of work between them. Another body lay crumpled in the open doorway that led to the kitchens.

“Mythal save us,” Coll muttered.

Kate approached the two bodies in the dirt, Coll right behind her.

“Dead,” Coll said at once. Kate nodded grimly. Coll had a better sense for these things than anyone else in the tower.

“Tranquil mages,” Kate murmured, recognizing the remains of the robes, even if the faces were too scorched to identify. She swallowed back against a wave of nausea and turned her head away. “They probably didn’t even fight back.”

“Of course they didn’t,” Coll said, bitterly. “I’m guessing the blood mage you killed did this.”

“Probably,” Kate said.

“That one’s alive, though,” Coll said, pointing at the body in the doorway.

Kate hesitated a moment. _That_ body wore armor - templar armor.

Kate shook herself and strode forward across the garden. It shouldn’t matter if that survivor was one of the jailers, Kate told herself. The templar needed help, and Kate and Coll could offer it. She forced her legs to kneel at the templar’s side and forced her hands to reach for the templar’s helmet.

That was as far as Kate got, though, for she couldn’t get the helmet loose. Wasn’t it supposed to have some sort of catch or something? She had no idea how armor worked, much less how to remove it.

“Give over,” Coll said, crouching down and brushing Kate’s hands aside. The elf found some latch that Kate had not known to look for, and the helmet came free. Coll gently pulled it from the templar’s head, then both she and Kate blinked in mild surprise.

“ _Dar asha_ ,” Coll muttered, tucking a braid behind her ear. “She’s a she.”

And so she was. A thick mass of brown hair unfurled like water and the still face was decidedly feminine in features.

“Fine thing fer a jailer, ain’t she?” Coll said.

“I don’t recognize her,” Kate replied. Of course, that was to be expected. The templars wore helmets most of the time, and rarely spoke to their charges.

“No serious burns,” Coll said. “Just a nasty bump to the head.”

“Can you heal her?” Kate asked.

“That I can,” Coll replied, her usual swagger reasserting itself. She rubbed her palms together, then flicked out her fingers. The movement sparked a blue-green glow in her hands. Coll gently placed them on either side of the templar’s face.

“Give me a moment,” she said. “She’ll come round soon.”

Kate nodded absently, her mind was already on another concern. “How many refugees were there?” she asked, looking though the doorway into the empty kitchens. “Ten? Fifteen?”

“Sure it don’t matter with their sort,” Coll replied, adjusting the angle of her hands so that they cradled the Templar’s neck. “One’s as bad as a mob.”

“I don’t hear fighting,” Kate murmured. “But the Veil is growing thin.”

Coll looked up sharply at that, and the two of them exchanged a worried glance. Changes in the barrier between this world and the Fade were never good.

At that same moment, the templar gave a soft moan. Her eyes fluttered open, and she turned her head to one side.

“What…?” she murmured.

“Sure, that’s our question for you,” Coll said. “What happened here?”

“Blood mage!” the woman cried, her eyes flying wide as she remembered. “A blood mage came running down the hall, headed for the gardens…” She tried to sit up, and winced.

“Here now,” Coll said, placing a glowing hand on the woman’s breastplate. “Give yerself a moment.”

“But the blood mage…”

“I killed him,” Kate said, quickly. The templar looked at Kate, then nodded in satisfaction.

“Well done, Lady Trevelyan.”

Kate started at that. “You know my name?”

”‘Course they know our names,” Coll said, finishing her healing and letting the spell flicker out. “Got papers on every one of us, I don’t doubt.”

The templar did not deny it. Instead, she gingerly sat up, stretching out her arms to make sure everything was in working order. Kate glanced nervously into the kitchens again, then back to the templar.

“Look, miss…er, ser…” Kate faltered there.

“Lysette,” the woman replied, the hint of an Orlesian accent lacing her words. “Ser Lysette.”

“Ser Lysette,” Kate repeated. Judging from the woman’s title and the charred insignia on her armor, Kate gathered that this was one of the lower ranking templars. That was also to be expected. The lower ranks were all that remained at Ostwick.

Two months ago, many of the templars had left Ostwick. It wasn’t quite clear why they had done so. The templars weren’t exactly in the habit of consulting with the mages about troop movements, after all. But Kate had heard rumors. It seemed that a summons had been sent for the senior officers - not from Divine Justinia, but from some other seat of authority in the Chantry hierarchy. The templars had been called to hunt down apostates from rebel Circles - and there were a lot of rebel Circles out there, if rumors were true.

Of course, rumors were all the Ostwick mages had to go on these days. Cut off from the world as they were, it was difficult to tell what was happening out there. Then again, Kate thought, it was difficult to tell what was happening on the other end of the castle.

“What happened, Ser Lysette?” Kate asked the templar. “Why were you attacked?”

“No idea,” the woman replied. “I heard the bells ringing…” she cocked her head. “They’ve stopped.”

“So you know as much as we do,” Coll said, sitting back on her heels. “Grand then.”

“Then we need to get to the bell tower,” Kate said, standing. “Find out why the alarm sounded.” The bell tower was by the main gate, on the other end of the fortress. Kate didn’t much like the idea of wandering around without knowing what they would face, but she didn’t see any other option.

“I’m coming with you,” Ser Lysette announced.

Coll frowned at that. “Oh. Well that’s grand now, isn’t it?” She gave Kate a pointed look, but Kate just shrugged.

“This is my home, too,” Lysette said, pushing herself up onto her feet. “I swore to defend it.” With that, she reached down and collected her sword and shield.

Kate considered that. Kate had never thought to fight alongside a templar. But Lysette was right. The Circle was home to the templars as well as the mages. That made this Ser Lysette an ally at present.

What a peculiar thought.

“Let’s go, then,” Kate said, heading into the castle. She heard the clank of Lysette’s armor behind her, and then a mutter of “Aw, bollocks,” from Coll. “We don’t even have our staffs with us.”

“Seems to me you don’t need them,” Lysette replied, practically.

The three of them made their way through the empty kitchens, then stepped out into the hallway. Kate saw no one there, and she heard nothing either, but when she reached out for the Fade…

“That way,” she said, pointing.

“The Great Hall?” Coll asked.

“Right by the bell tower,” Lysette observed.

“Something’s going on up there,” Kate said. “Let’s be careful.”

“Shields up?” Coll suggested.

Kate nodded. And while Lysette held up an actual shield, Coll flicked her hand out. A sheen of blue-green light flickered over all three of them, settling on their skin like water. Kate didn’t even blink at the touch of Coll’s magic, but Lysette sucked in a breath in surprise.

“Maker’s tears!” she gasped.

“What?” Kate asked.

“I…nothing,” the woman muttered. She paused a moment, then said, “I’m just not used to magic.”

“And yet, yeh live in a _mage_ tower,” Coll said, sarcastically. Lysette blushed a bit.

“Well, yes,” she hedged, “but I’m not used to… Never mind.”

They had scarcely reached the end of the corridor, when a clanking sound echoed down the hall. A templar rounded the corner then, running as fast as his armor would allow. He wore no helmet, and his eyes were wide with fear. Kate shrank back at the sight. But Lysette strode forward in concern, her shield and sword drooping by her sides.

“What’s going on?” Lysette demanded of the templar. “Are the mages…?”

But she got no further than that. The templar snapped his shield up, his eyes suddenly murderous.

“Lysette!” Coll cried, but the woman had no time to react. The templar barreled into her at full speed, bashing her against the wall. The sword was knocked from Lysette’s grip, and her head was smashed against the stones. Lysette fell limp, too dazed to move. Then the templar raised his sword over his head, and Kate didn’t even think.

Magic shot from her fingers, encasing the man in a thick sheet of ice. Lysette stared up in horror. The other templar’s sword now hung frozen, just inches above her face.

“Maker’s breath,” Lysette choked out.

She shuffled back, then climbed out from under the shadow of her attacker. “Why did he do that?”

”‘Cause he’s a feckin’ loony,” Coll replied. “An’ didn’t I just get done healin’ that head of yours? Don’t go breakin’ it again right off.”

“It’s a good thing Coll put a barrier on you,” Kate added.

Lysette frowned. “But why did he attack?” Lysette wanted to know. She stopped there, her eyes narrowing as she considered the man inside the ice. “Wait. This man…”

“Isn’t one of the Ostwick templars,” Kate finished for her. “That armor isn’t like yours.”

“No, it’s not,” Lysette said. “Who _is_ he? Is he enthralled?”

“Oh, sure,” Coll rolled her eyes. “‘Cause the only reason templars go ‘round the bend is if blood mages make them do it.”

“No trace of magic on him,” Kate said, solemnly.

“Right, then he’s a fecker of his own free will,” Coll said. “So lesson learned, aye? Next time, keep your shield up and keep that pretty head of yours on your shoulders.”

Lysette flushed at Coll’s words, though whether from embarrassment or irritation, Kate couldn’t tell. Kate reached out a hand to calm both the elf and the knight.

“It’s alright,” she said. “We’re still alive. And now we know that both mages _and_ templars are attacking the Circle.”

“Not _our_ mages,” Coll said, petulantly.

“Not our templars either,” Lysette replied, defensively.

“Then let’s find out what’s going on,” Kate said, taking a step forward.

“What about this maggot?” Coll asked, pointing at the still frozen templar.

“Oh,” Kate said, frowning. Her ice spell would hold for a while, but not indefinitely. But before she could answer, Lysette stepped forward.

“We kill him,” Lysette said, coldly.

“Sounds good to me,” Coll nodded.

And before Kate could say anything - before she could even she could decide if mercy or caution was the better course, Lysette struck the templar down. There was a shattering sound, like glass breaking, though it turned to a juicy squelch at the end. Kate turned her face away, but Coll looked on in grim satisfaction.

“Well now,” Coll said, eyebrows raised. “That was a hell of a thwack. Good on you, templar.”

“Thank you,” Lysette said, slanting her a glance. “I think.”

Kate kept her eyes averted from the body. In a way, this was her second kill of the day. Even though she hadn’t landed the final blow, Kate felt like this death had changed something.

“You alright, Lady Trevelyan?” Lysette asked, noting her silence.

“Fine,” Kate lied. She shook away the unclean feeling that had settled over her and nodded down the hall.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s beginning to look like we’re under attack from the outside.”

“Looks like it,” Lysette agreed.

“So,” Coll said, rubbing her tattooed hands together. “Blood mages _and_ crazy templars? This day just keeps getting better and better.”

Kate led the way down the hall, calling back over her shoulder:

“Then let’s make sure they get a proper welcome from the Ostwick Circle, shall we?”


	3. Ice and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate stops the battle cold.

Kate had no idea how _she_ had become the leader of their little band of three. But as they passed empty classrooms and quiet halls, Lysette and Colleen steadfastly remained one step behind her. Kate wasn’t sure if this was because they trusted her to guide them safely to the great hall, or if they simply wanted Kate to be the first into danger.

Then, Kate stopped short. _Speaking of danger._

Two bodies lay in a open doorway, blackened beyond recognition. Kate sucked in a breath. “Oh Maker,” she muttered.

“Falon’Din guide them,” Coll said, coming to stop right behind Kate. Lysette said nothing, but her brows drew together as if in pain and Kate saw tears gather in the corners of her eyes. Somehow, Lysette’s quiet sorrow made it all seem that much worse.

“Can’t do much for the dead,” Coll said. “But the living…”

“You’re right,” Kate nodded. “We need to…” But then she broke off, for something tugged at her senses.

“The Fade,” Kate said without thinking. “It’s rippling somehow.”

Lysette turned to stare at her. “You can _feel_ it?”

Coll rolled her eyes. “Kate, remember how you’re _just_ an ice mage?”

“Oh. Right.”

“Lead on, _ice mage_ ,” Coll said, smacking her on the back.

Kate took one last look at the bodies, then pressed on. Lysette and Coll fell in line behind her. Kate led them around a corner, and then down the long, wide corridor that led to the great hall. Lysette was remarkably quiet in her heavy armor, Kate noticed. As the approached the great, arched doorway, they slowed their steps. Kate pressed herself against the wall, staying out of sight as best she could. A sickly reddish light glowed from within the great hall and the air grew warm around them.

“Stop this madness!” Kate heard a familiar female voice cry. “Think on what you’re doing!”

“What I’m doing?” Kate heard another female voice shout back. “I’m trying to set this _right_.”

 _Set what right?_ Kate wondered. Though Coll and Lysette hung back, Kate carefully crept to the doorway and peeked in.

The great hall looked like every cautionary tale Kate had ever heard about blood rituals. Blood pooled on the stones, blood swirled through the air in whirlpools of red. The smell of iron and lyrium filled the hall and the Fade felt so stained and thin that Kate nearly gagged.

The hall was filled with people, too, some lying in pools of blood, some standing in dirty, gore-stained robes, some wearing blackened armor. It took a moment for Kate to make sense of it all, to realize that there was something of an order to the mob.

To the left were most of the mages: the fellows of Ostwick, and the majority the Ansburg refugees as well. To her horror, Kate realized that several children stood in that group, clutching the skirts of their older brethren and staring at the carnage with wide eyes. Thankfully, Senior Enchanter Lydia stood in the center of this group, holding up one of her famed barrier spells. The mages with her were protected under a great, shimmering dome of magic.

At the other end of the hall stood a crowd of templars. Most wore the Ostwick armor, but several of them were dressed like the man who had attacked Lysette back in the corridor. At first Kate thought the templars were allied against the mages, but a second glance revealed the standoff for what it really was: The armored figures all writhed in postures of pain, their arms bent at odd angles, their heads twisted too far. One of them whimpered. From another helmet came a choking sound. One of the bare-headed soldiers stared ahead with blank eyes, her tongue lolling from her mouth.

All of these soldiers were trapped, Kate realized, caught in some binding spell spun of agony or horror or both.

And in the center of the hall stood the blood mages. They were easy to recognize from knives in their hands the blood staining their robes. There were only seven of them, Kate thought, quickly counting - well, seven and three templars. It was hard to tell if those templars were free agents, or simply thralls. Kate was betting on the latter. Five of the blood mages seemed to be Ansburg refugees, but the last two were clearly from the Ostwick Circle.

 _Traitors,_ Kate thought furiously.

The blood mages appeared to be led by a skinny woman in torn Ansburg-style robes. Her face was pockmarked and her snow-white hair hung lank about her shoulders. Her hands were bloodied up to the elbow, and her eyes were wild. Before her lay a pile of dirty cloth. It took Kate a moment to realize that there was a body in there. It took her a moment more to recognize the dead, drained face as that of Ostwick’s First Enchanter.

Kate felt as if she was going to be sick.

As Kate watched, the white-haired blood mage took a step forward, pointing her finger at Lydia accusingly.

“I am trying to save us,” the woman said. “But _you_ would condemn us to death.”

“Death?” Lydia cried. “We tried to help you! We took you in, fed you…”

“And your First Enchanter was ready to throw us out the moment these bastards came to collect us!” the blood mage screamed.

“He was not!” some Ostwick mage shouted, “He was trying to calm them down. And then you _killed_ him.”

Well, Kate thought. That _did_ explain this mess. It also explained why both a blood mage and a templar had been running amok in the halls. Clearly these blood mages had thought to defend themselves and the renegade templars had taken issue with that.

Kate glanced at the body of the First Enchanter, feeling sorrow settle within her. The First Enchanter had often annoyed her, but he didn’t deserve _this._ No one did.

The First Enchanter had no stomach for conflict of any kind, and when the other Circles had declared independence, he had condemned the rebellion. The mages of Ostwick were not traitors to the Chantry, he’d insisted. Then he had closed the doors and refused to listen to news from the outside world. It had taken a lot of arguing to convince him to allow the Ansburg refugees to stay.

Kate and some of the others had objected to his stance on the war. The mages of Ostwick ought to do _something_ to stop the fighting, they had argued. At the very least, they should send word to Val Royeaux and ask the Chantry for guidance. Then a letter had arrived from the Grand Cathedral, announcing that Divine Justinia was holding peace talks in Ferelden. Ostwick was urged to come and help negotiate an end to mage-templar hostilities. Kate had volunteered at once. Surely this was their opportunity to stop this madness, she argued.

But the First Enchanter would not be moved. Why should Ostwick risk its mages on a long journey south, he had asked? Ostwick had caused no trouble. Ostwick had nothing to prove. Best to stay here, safe in the fortress walls, and let the world tear itself apart.

It had been wishful thinking, Kate thought sadly. The First Enchanter had paid the price for it. In fact, they might all pay for his mistake now.

“At least let the Ostwick templars go,” Kate heard Senior Enchanter Lydia shout. “Our guardians have nothing to do with these mercenaries. They seek only to protect the mages of this Circle.”

This seemed to both amuse and enrage the blood mage.

“They’re _templars_ ,” she hissed, spit flying from her lips and catching in her white hair. “They despise us all. They will never see us as anything but potential apostates.”

“Not like she’s givin’ a good argument to the contrary,” Kate heard Coll mutter.

 _True_ , Kate thought. Standing here listening to this woman’s ranting was getting them no where. Though this appeared to be a momentary ceasefire, she didn’t doubt that the blood mages would start up the battle again as soon as they saw an opening.

Kate’s eyes darted back and forth across the room as she tried to come up with a plan. Lydia had the mages protected - for now - but the Ostwick templars were in trouble. Kate needed to get them free of that spell without getting anyone killed in the process. A few plans formed in her mind, but most were risky and complicated. And those blood mages had a _lot_ of power at their command, Kate thought. The blood clouds swirled through the high rafters like crimson banners, reminding her just how much force she was dealing with in there.

Kate drew back from the doorway. She turned to find Coll and Lysette staring a her expectantly.

“So, what do we do?” Coll said, so quietly that she was mostly mouthing the words.

“Give me a minute,” Kate replied.

“Don’t you have a plan?” Lysette whispered, frowning.

“Seems she doesn’t,” Coll whispered back.

“Give me a _minute_ ,” Kate hissed. She found her hands were shaking and she pressed them together to stop them. From inside the hall, the sounds of the argument between Lydia and the blood mage were growing louder.

“How can you bow to these murderers?!” the blood mage was shrieking. “You are _gods_ on this earth, and yet you allow _ants_ to rule you. You should be embracing your powers…!”

“Forget plans,” Coll whispered. “Let’s just attack.”

“If you rush in there,” Lysette whispered back, “a lot of people will die.”

“Sure a lot of people already died,” Coll hissed back. She turned her eyes to Kate. “And those templars are about to die. I can feel them fading. They haven’t got much longer, Kate. We have to move _now._ “

“Some of those templars might be enemies,” Lysette reminded them.

“But we have to free _our_ templars,” Kate said. She never thought she would care to protect the Ostwick templars. But given the choice between the Ostwick guardians and a handful of unhinged blood mages, Kate found her loyalties were pretty clear. With that, she settled on a plan. She just prayed to the Maker that it would work.

“Coll,” Kate whispered, turning to the elf, “I think it’s time you stop pretending to be ‘just a healer,’ don’t you?”

The elf’s mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Sure,” she replied. “After all, you already let slip that you can do more than just freeze things.” Kate nodded her reply.

“What are you two on about?” Lysette hissed, looking from one of them to the other. “We need a plan.”

“I have an idea,” Kate said. And quickly as she could, she laid out her plan for the other two women.

In the hall beyond, the angry shouting rose in both volume and crazy: “We should be _ruling_ Thedas!” the woman shouted. “As in the Tevinter Imperium, we must take our place as rulers, as magisters…”

And then, quite suddenly, Colleen was standing on the top stair of the great hall, her dark braids flying everywhere.

“Oh, so you’re a magister now, are yeh?” the elf shouted. “Well that’s just great. ‘Cause you know that we elves just _love_ to kill Vints.”

As every eye in the room shot to Coll, the elf raised both hands. The blood mages gathered magic, ready to cast at her, but then there was a great crack. Roots came shooting out of the stone floor and a massive web of branches blocked Coll from view. As the blood mages frantically fired spells at the brambles, Kate and Lysette dashed down the steps, blocked from the hostile magic by the cover of Coll’s great thorny wall. From inside the roots, Kate heard Coll laugh.

“Oh, just you try, shems,” Coll cackled. “You’ve _no_ idea what this Dalish can do.”

Suddenly, the roots were sucked back into the floor, and Coll was nowhere to be seen. The blood mages stared in surprise, too startled to fully register that Kate and Lysette were now rushing into the room where the thorns used to be. Then, right behind the blood mages, a tangle of roots shot up again. The brambles unfurled, revealing Coll in the center of them, like some sort of bizarre, tattooed bird borne of a great wooden egg.

“Fenhedis, yeh blood mage feckers!” she shouted.

Coll snapped her hands together, and one of the blood mages found herself trapped in a wooden egg of her own. Only this tangle of roots bore down on her, crushing her with a great crack. As two other blood mages gaped and two more gathered spells to their finger tips, Lysette came running in. She went straight for the nearest blood mage and gutted him from behind. She then shoved her boot against his back, ripping her sword free from his body. The blood mage collapsed to the floor.

And then the room seemed to explode.

Fire and lightning split the air, merging in a blast. It looked for a moment like the spark of flint to tinder, but on the scale of the entire castle hall. The sound was deafening. One of the templar thralls went flying overhead with a scream, slammed against a high wall, and fell heavily to the floor. Kate saw another of the thralls run up to a mage who stood outside of Lydia’s barrier spell. The poor woman raised her hands, but too late. Kate looked away as the sword fell, just in time to see another mage hanging in mid-air, choking as if trapped in an invisible vise.

All that happened in just a few moments, but Kate forced herself to block it out. She concentrated on where she needed to be - right there, across the room, in front of the trapped templars. She gathered power to herself.

And then Kate stepped into the Fade.

Well, of course she didn’t _really_ step into the Fade. Physically passing through the Veil was impossible. But using the Fade as a bow and herself as an arrow, Kate shot forward. It was a new spell, one she had only tried a few times before, but thank the Maker, it worked. Kate blurred forward the length of the room and landed…

She landed face-first in the wall, actually. The spell was new, and she plowed right into the stones and knocked herself out for a second or two. When Kate’s vision stopped sparkling with stars, she realized she’d landed right behind the templars. The blood mages hadn’t noticed her in all the fighting, and the caught templars all gazed away from her like wretched statues.

Kate closed her eyes and reached out with her mind - or heart - or whatever it was inside of her that felt through to the world of the Fade. She sensed the binding spell and tried to grab hold of it. But instead of loosening it, Kate hissed out a curse and drew her hands back to her chest. That binding spell was vicious, like a line of blades hidden just under water. And Kate had just stuck her hand into the pool without realizing how sharp that spell was. The binding had not budged. And Kate had felt _things_ roiling on the other side of the Veil, like sharks in the water.

What was more, Kate had now attracted the notice of the blood mages. A traitorous Ostwick mage whirled in her direction. Kate backed away, but right behind her, one of the mercenary templars began to move. She creaked and groaned as if emerging from a casing of stone. Then the bare-headed woman dropped forward a bit, caught herself on one knee. When she looked up at Kate, her eyes narrowed in rage.

“You,” she hissed, glaring at Kate. “You tried to _kill_ us!”

“I didn’t!” Kate cried, holding her hands up in protest. “I’m trying to help!”

But she didn’t get much further than that. The templar charged. Kate shouted in alarm and shot herself through the fade once more, blindly rushing away. When she came to a stop, she stood beside another mage. The man turned to her in surprise, casting a barrier spell over himself. Kate did the same. And then they both paused.

“Kate?” the man gasped.

Kate gave a terse nod of recognition. She knew this mage, and he didn’t have blood on his hands. With that, she turned to deal with the battle that she had failed to stop.

It was chaos. Lydia’s barrier spell still held, but the rest of the room was a mess. More of the templars were slowly pulling free of the binding, and not all of them were fighting the blood mages. Two turned on one another and began fighting. A third tried to attack an Ostwick mage and got blasted for his efforts.

 _Oh Maker_ , Kate thought, swallowing. She had hoped to free the Ostwick templars and get their help against the blood mages. But that hadn’t worked. And if this dragged on much longer, there wouldn’t be anyone left standing.

Before Kate could think of another plan, a templar came running at her from the right. Kate screamed and tried to back away, but instead tripped over the hem of her own skirt. She fell to the ground, the templar’s blade whistling within an inch of her head. As she fell, Kate shot out an ice spell, but it missed the templar entirely. Kate scrambled back across the floor like a crab, legs caught in her skirts. Before she could gather enough magic to cast again, the templar rounded on her, sword in the air.

And then a mass of metal attacked him from the left. Lysette slammed into the man, knocking him back with her shield, her sword at the ready.

“That one’s a friend,” Lysette shouted at the man. “Stand _down_.”

But the templar just roared with rage and launched himself back at Lysette. Kate tossed a barrier spell over Lysette, but at the same time, a dark smudge came out of nowhere. The black cloud narrowly missing Lysette’s head and went straight up the nostrils of one of the attacking templars. For a moment, it looked like he’d inhaled a cloud of gnats. Then the man dropped his sword and started clawing at his eyes. His screams rent the air and he went running in the other direction. Kate glanced over her shoulder to see Coll give a satisfied grin. The elf hiked her chin in the air, then rode off in a rolling mass of roots.

Lysette held out a hand, and Kate took it. The templar hauled Kate to her slippered feet, and Kate untangled her legs from her skirts.

Robes were a foolish fashion choice in a fight, Kate thought. If she lived through this, she was never wearing a dress again.

“They’ll tear each other apart!” Lysette cried to Kate, just as another voice shouted from across the room.

“Templars, stop! Cease your fighting.”

Ser Ira, the remaining leader of the Ostwick templars, had somehow broken free of the binding spell. He now stood before Senior Enchanter Lydia, guarding her from the others, and likewise guarded by her spell. The sight of those two, standing together, so shocked the room that everyone turned to stare. The templars slowed their fighting. The white-haired blood mage also paused.

And for one moment - for one blessed moment - Kate thought they would listen. Lydia and Ira were Circle leaders. Now that they had the room’s attention, surely everyone would do as they said. But then…

“ _AAAAAHhhhhhhhhh!_ “

Enchanter Lydia let out a bone-chilling scream. Kate felt as though the floor had dropped out from under her as she spun around, as the whole world seemed to spin around at that sound. Kate turned in time to see Lydia sink to her knees. Lydia clutched at her chest, as if trying to grab her heart. Ira tried to reach for her, but he was hurled backward, as if tossed by an invisible hand. Lydia wavered for a moment, and in that moment, she looked to Kate. Their eyes met. Then Lydia fell face-first to the stones.

And then Lydia was dead. The barrier spell disappeared as if it had never existed. The now-vulnerable mages all blinked at one another in shock.

Kate could not move. She could not think. Lydia was dead. She was _dead_. In the silence, only one person moved. Casually as one might pluck a flower, a young man - an apprentice whose name Kate could not remember - reached down and yanked a dagger out of Lydia’s ribs. Kate felt her stomach churn.

The apprentice stepped over Lydia’s corpse without looking down. As he did so, a red cloud of blood rose up and followed him. Everyone standing nearby scurried back in alarm, eyes wide. The apprentice walked on, gathering flame to his hands, mixing it with the gore that swirled before his face. As the young man strode across the room, Kate could feel the Fade ebb and thin.

And some _thing_ slid through the whisper-thin Veil.

Lydia’s young apprentice began to transform before Kate’s very eyes. His skinny arms elongated, his small body swelled with what looked like large boils. His face shrank away in the mass of extra flesh, and Kate found herself looking at something no longer human.

 _Abomination_ , Kate thought.

This was what happened when some demon came forth from the Fade and merged with a mortal host. Together, they transformed into something new, something _more_ , something powerful and hungry. The creature raised its hands, advancing on the templars.

 _Templars and mages and now an abomination,_ Kate thought, wildly. And there were more things waiting on the other side of the Veil. Kate could feel them, pressing at the barrier, looking for any opportunity to slide across. Just a little more blood on the stones, Kate thought, and the demons would start pouring in. If they didn’t stop this soon, they were all going to end up dead like Lydia.

Lydia…

_“Blood magic is not the problem,” Lydia had once told Kate. “Magic of any kind is only a tool of the Will. Our choices are what cause evil, my dear - and good as well. Our hearts are more powerful than the furthest reaches of the Fade. Always remember that.”_

_The furthest reaches of the Fade,_ Kate thought.

And then, _The power of the heart._

In that moment, Kate saw the connection: the blood, the Fade, the hearts, the flow. And just as clearly, she saw how all this might end.

Kate shot forward with a Fade-step, skidding to a halt right before the abomination.

“Kate!” she heard Colleen cry. The abomination whirled on her with a roar. It raised its long, improbably-proportioned arms over its head, but Kate stood her ground.

Kate reached for the Fade. She found one handful of it - or mindful, perhaps. She found a piece that was clean and unsullied, and she drew it into herself, like shoving a blade of ice into her chest.

And it _hurt_ , damn it. Kate felt as if she had tried to swallow a glacial stream. But she forced herself to hold the Fade’s freezing power, forced herself to channel that harsh purity outward through her fingertips. She searched through the room, felt the hot, angry stain that blood had left behind…

 _There and there,_ Kate thought, marking the spots in her mind. _There_ : blood on a mage’s hands. _There_ : the scarred wrist of the woman with the white hair. _There_ : the still heart of the First Enchanter. _There_ : Lydia’s blood, still oozing onto the floor. And there, right before her, the roaring rage of the abomination.

Kate felt the heat rolling off of the abomination, smelled the stink of its breath - all rotting meat and sulfur. She saw it slide toward her through the pool of the First Enchanter’s blood. And with that, Kate flung her hands up into the air. The Fade flashed from her in fractals, sharp and cruel and cold.

The room froze.

Ice flickered out across the stones. The swirling blood in the air suddenly stopped, then fell to the ground as soft, crimson snow. A silver sheen covered every surface and the mages and templars all blinked at one another through frosted lashes.

In the center of the room, seven blood mages stood frozen. Their bodies had exploded from the inside out, their veins ruptured as their blood had turned suddenly to ice. Only the abomination, half living and half fade-creature, had withstood this onslaught. The thing was slowed, but it still advanced. It slammed Kate to the ground with one massive, clawed hand. She fell to the floor, gasping.

But before the creature could strike her again, the others leaped into action. Lysette and Coll ran toward the creature. Coll summoned roots to hold it and Lysette sliced into the mass of it with her sword. The abomination roared and then several more mages and templars joined the fight. A lightning spell shocked the thing, another sword sliced into it and then a blast of fire burned the corpse to ash. A scorch mark was all that was left on the floor. The mages and templars stood there, staring at one another in stunned silence.

Every eye in the room turned to stare at Kate. She blinked up at them, then slowly rose to her knees. She found she could rise no further. The spell had left her throat hoarse, as if she’d been screaming for hours. Her hands trembled; her legs cramped. A heavily armored hand fell on Kate’s shoulder, and she looked up in a daze to find the now-familiar face of Ser Lysette gazing down at her.

“You did it,” Ser Lysette said, gravely. “You saved them. All of them.” She nodded somewhere over Kate’s head, no doubt at her templar brethren. Kate found her vision was going blurry.

Coll dropped to her knees before Kate, making Kate’s head hurt with her loud whoop of triumph.

“Mythal bless your arse!” the elf cried. “Feckin battlemage, are you now, Kate? How in the Void did you do that?”

“Used the Fade to track the tainted blood…” Kate murmured. “Borrowed power from the Fade to freeze it…” But she couldn’t manage more of an explanation than that. She swayed and nearly fell over.

“Here now,” Coll said, placing one hand on Kate’s forehead. “How many times has your old friend Coll warned you? Don’t be an eejit and go playin’ around with the Fade?”

“You’ve said it… A time or two,” Kate admitted.

All around Kate, she could see people moving, but watching them made her head hurt. She closed her eyes, but then she heard a mercenary say:

“Secure the Ansburg refugees.”

“Too risky,” another said. “We should kill all of them.”

“What?” Kate gasped. Coll shouted, “No!” And all around the room, alarmed cries met this statement and hands filled with flame and lightning.

“No,” Kate slurred, stumbling to her feet. She ignored the way exhaustion tried to drag her down. “We are done with fighting.”

“The mages are under our protection,” Ser Ira said. “Your regiment has no authority here.”

“No killing,” Kate said, shaking her head as she stumbled forward a step. “No more fighting. The Fade…” But the room was starting to pitch now.

“Lady Trevelyan is right,” Lysette said. “We must stop fighting.”

 _That_ seemed to startled the renegade templars more than anything else.

“Lady _Trevelyan_?” one of the others repeated, nervously.

“She’s a Trevelyan?” someone else whispered.

“As in, related to Bann Trevelyan?” yet another voice asked.

“This is his youngest daughter,” Lysette said, placing a gauntleted hand on Kate’s shoulder. Kate staggered under the weight of it. “Her family has connections to every city in the Free Marches, and half the Chantries in Thedas.”

“I didn’t realize…” a templar voice muttered.

Kate was too tired to roll her eyes or snort in disgust. It seemed there was something to be gained from her family connections after all. Among mages, titles and birth meant nothing. A noblewoman like Kate could be best friends with an ex-Dalish like Coll and no one would think twice. But the templars came from noble families. For them, the whole world was nothing but rules and rank, duty and deference. Her family’s name held sway with them. And though Kate had always resented that, today she’d use it. She’d use her connections to protect the mages, just like she’d used her magic a moment ago.

Kate glanced over at one of the dead blood mages. For the first time, she took in the full effect of what her magic had wrought. What had been a face was now a grotesque mask of ice and ruptured flesh. She hadn’t just killed those mages. She had utterly destroyed them. Kate felt bile rise in her throat.

“Lady Trevelyan?” Lysette asked, peering at Kate. “Are you alright?”

Kate meant to say, yes, she was fine. Kate meant to say that she planned to write to her family at once, securing the Trevelyan family’s support for the Ostwick Circle. She meant to suggest sending a delegation to the Conclave, to reconsider Ostwick’s neutral stance in the war. And Kate meant to volunteer herself as one of the delegates.

But instead, Kate dropped to her knees and vomited. Then she fainted dead away.


	4. Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Commander prepares for the worst and the Divine hopes for the best

“We just received word from the Ostwick Circle. It seems they’ll be sending someone to the Conclave after all.”

Commander Cullen Rutherford looked up in surprise at this bit of news. “I thought they had refused to come,” he said, frowning.

Cullen turned his attention to the table before him. A list of all the delegates lay upon it, as well as a large map of Haven. The map was all marked with ink and pins and various notes about the patrol schedules. This single table served as Cullen’s base of operations, and the location for his morning meetings with his ranking officers. Shoved into the north alcove of the Chantry, the table was a very poor meeting place indeed.

Still, Cullen had made the best of it. He had bigger challenges to worry about than securing himself a satisfactory desk or even an office. His mission was to fortify the Temple of Sacred Ashes in preparation for the upcoming peace talks. It was not an easy task. These mountains gave new meaning to the word ‘uncharted.’ And it certainly didn’t help matters when delegates cropped up at the last minute.

Beside the table, Ser Rylen, Cullen’s second-in-command, just shrugged apologetically. “Aye, sir,” he said. “Ostwick was neutral. But it seems some rebel templars showed up at their door. Or was it blood mages? Either way, it changed their minds for them, so to speak.”

“Ah,” Cullen said. The muscles of his jaw tightened ever so slightly. “Well then.”

 _That_ was a story he had heard often enough in this past year. He and his ranking officers had lived that story, in fact. It was why they were standing here in the Haven Chantry, rather than in the Kirkwall Gallows.

“What do we know about the Ostwick delegation?” Cullen wanted to know.

“Not much,” Rylen admitted. “Sister Nightingale gathered what information she could, but it’s spotty at best. All she knows is that the mages held off their attackers with a _very_ powerful spell.”

“Not what I wanted to hear,” Cullen muttered, glancing at the list of delegates. Dipping a quill into the ink pot, he added, ‘OSTWICK,’ in his bold scrawl.

“So they’re sending mages, then?” Cullen said, about to make a note of it.

“Mages and templars, both,” Rylen replied.

Cullen looked up in surprise. “What, really?” He made a note of it, then placed the quill back in the ink pot.

“Seems so,” Rylen said. He handed Cullen the spymaster’s brief and a folded letter. Cullen took these papers and read Leliana’s note first. Her report said only that the Ostwick circle had been attacked and then closed its doors to the outside world. Cullen turned his attention to the letter from Ostwick. The seal was already broken, so Cullen unfolded the letter and read through it quickly.

“Ser Ira,” Cullen read. “I don’t know him. He’s coming with a mage and a few retainers. A mage _and_ a templar,” he muttered to himself. “That’s odd.”

Odd, but not unwelcome, he added, silently. To date, Cullen could not think of a single Circle that had sent both mages and templars together. Most other Circles had utterly dissolved into fighting between the two groups. And in many cases, only one group survived the resulting battle.

“Do you suspect trouble, sir?” At Rylen’s side, Ser Ruvena looked up at Cullen from beneath the metal scout helmet she always wore. “Should we detain them?”

Cullen always suspected trouble, but in this case, he just shook his head.

“No need,” he replied. “If Ostwick sends mages and templars together, they might be more reasonable than most. And if they’re not, well, we have plenty of soldiers in place.”

“Mercs, you mean,” Rylen said, frowning.

“Just so,” Cullen said. He, too, disliked the fact that only Tal-Vashoth mercenaries were being allowed in the temple proper, but he understood the Divine’s reasons for it. She wanted the Conclave to present a neutral front, and the horned giants were definitely not from the Circles.

With that thought, Cullen skimmed through the letter from Ostwick once more. The missive began with a formal salutation to the Divine and excessive praise for the peace talks. These bits of prosy nonsense were followed by a short report of the violence at Ostwick. _That_ was the only part that interested Cullen, and it obscured far more of the conflict than it described. The letter concluded with the not-so-subtle hint that the mage in the delegation was related to some Free Marcher nobleman.

Cullen folded the letter with a shake of his head. As if he cared for such name-dropping. Having lived most of his life in the Order, Cullen generally ignored the aristocracy and their posturing. In a Circle tower, all that mattered was one’s ability to get the job done. For templars, that meant guarding the mages. For the mages… Well, Cullen thought darkly, that usually just meant staying sane.

Cullen handed the letter and note back to Rylen. “Make arrangements for them,” he said.

“We’re a bit full up, sir,” Rylen put in, hesitantly. “The Divine wants everyone to have a place to pray before the talks begin, but there are only so many chapels…”

“As if the Maker cares where we sit our rears when we say our prayers,” Cullen could not disguise his irritation. “If there aren’t enough altars to go around, then build a few. Just stick a statue of Andraste in a broom closet and don’t tell anyone the difference.”

Ruvena gave a laugh, then quickly bit back her smile. Rylen hesitated, evidently wondering if his commander was condoning blasphemy or not. But he said, “Yes sir,” and nodded all the same.

“Anything else?” Cullen asked, looking to the other officers present. “Ruvena?”

The officer straightened at once. “The recruits are coming along in their training well enough, sir,” she replied. “Not exceptional swordsmen, but they’ll do.”

Cullen nodded. “I’ll stop by later today and check in on them.”

“Very good, sir,” she nodded.

“And you, Keran?” Cullen asked.

“The check points have been set up along the pilgrim’s pass, sir,” the young man replied. “Lady Cassandra has agreed to oversee the forward camp.”

“Insisted, was more what it was,” Ruvena put in. “Chancellor Roderick wasn’t happy about it.”

“That’s no surprise,” Rylen muttered.

“Anything else, Keran?” Cullen asked.

“Well, um, yes,” the young man said, hesitantly. Cullen raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“I was going over some of the maps of the area, sir,” Keran said, glancing at the papers in his hand, “and I’m a bit, um, concerned.”

“Concerned how?” Cullen wanted to know.

“Well,” Keran said, uncertainly, “We’ve cobbled together every map we could find to try and get a read on this place. But I keep thinking I saw a map that looked quite different from the ones we have here. And now I can’t recall where I saw it.” When Cullen frowned, Keran quickly added, “I know that’s not very useful, sir. But I thought I ought to mention it all the same.”

“Fair enough,” Cullen said, “But I can’t send our people to scout out the entire mountain range. Do you have any clearer idea where you think we ought to look?”

“It was a path,” Keran said, slowly. “Or no. No, I think it might have been a cave?”

“We’ve sealed off dozens of mines and nug trails already,” Ruvena pointed out. “The main road is the only real way in now.”

“That only makes me worry more,” Keran said, frowning. “When you have an obvious front door, there’s almost always a secret way out the back.” His gaze grew troubled as he glanced down at the map in his hands.

“Kirkwall was a warren,” he added, quietly.

The others didn’t say anything to this. Cullen didn’t either. He knew - they all knew - that Keran had once spent almost a week lost in the the caverns below Kirkwall, trapped at the hands of blood mages. It made Cullen uncomfortable to think of that. After all, it reminded Cullen too much of the time when…

Well, this was not the time to worry about the past, he reminded himself. They had too much to worry about in the near future.

“Understood, Keran,” Cullen said, crisply. “If you think we’ve overlooked a passage, it’s worth scouting the mines again. Better yet, we can have Leliana’s people take another run at it. They’re better suited to sneaking through caverns than our recruits are.” He glanced around at all of his officers and added:

“You’ve done good work getting this place secured. But we’re far from finished. The delegates will be arriving any day now, and we must be prepared for whatever comes.”

Three heads nodded at him in understanding. Three pairs of eyes reflected his determination to see this through.

And then, Cullen thought, then there was the fourth soldier.

Cullen cleared his throat. Though he knew he would regret it - he _always_ regretted it - Cullen raised his voice and asked:

“Anything to report, Morris?”

The young man turned and blinked at Cullen with vacant blue eyes.

“Report?” Morris asked, as if this was a completely foreign concept, as if Cullen hadn’t asked him this same question every morning of every day for the past five years. The other officers, Maker bless them, managed not to laugh. Instead, Rylen considered his boots and Keran studied his maps. Ruvena gazed up the ceiling as if the rafters had suddenly become fascinating.

For his part, Cullen took a breath for patience. Morris had his uses, but staying on point during meetings was _not_ one of them.

“Anything to report, Morris?” Cullen asked again.

“Will there be apostates at the peace talks?” he asked.

The others glanced at one another in confusion. That was actually a relevant question, though it had a rather obvious answer.

“Well,” Cullen said, patiently, “considering that the Circles have fallen, that means every mage is technically an apostate now.”

“Oh,” Morris said, frowning.

“So, yes,” Cullen clarified. “There will be apostates at the Conclave. But remember, these apostates have trained in a Circle. There won’t be hedge mages or shape shifters or anything unusual. Well,” he amended, “There shouldn’t be. But be prepared for anything, as always.”

Cullen stopped there, wondering if he’d answered Morris’ question. The young man considered this, nodding solemnly.

“Oh, good,” he said. “I was nervous about dealing with apostates. They frighten me.”

“Mages have terrible power,” Keran conceded. “But not all of them are bad.” Rylen nodded his agreement.

“Just remember,” Ruvena said, patting Morris on the shoulder as though he were a child, “We’ve dealt with apostates before.” She shot a quick glance to Cullen as she added, “We can handle whatever they throw at us.”

Cullen wouldn’t have put it quite that arrogantly, but he was pleased to see that his officers felt confident in their abilities. Morris just shook his head, slowly.

“ _I’ve_ never dealt with apostates before,” he said.

“You have, though,” Rylen replied. “You were there when the Gallows fell, just like the rest of us.”

“And before that, you spoke with Hawke all the time,” Ruvena added.

Morris’ eyes went huge and his mouth dropped open.

“The Champion of Kirkwall was a _mage_?”

The others just stared at him.

“What, seriously?” Ruvena gaped. “How could you not know that?”

“But I once asked her for information on suspected apostates and she just laughed at me,” Morris said, cocking his head to one side.

Cullen rolled his eyes heavenward. He could only imagine how that conversation must have gone. Hawke and her friends must have laughed themselves silly over that one.

“Right,” Cullen said, returning to the subject at hand. “Mages. We’ll be ready for them. And the templars, too. Many of the templars are still loyal to the Order, but we can’t be sure which ones. Be on your guard around them, and make sure our recruits know not to trust anyone but our own forces.”

Everyone nodded - everyone but Morris.

“But,” he said, slowly, “Hawke wasn’t _really_ a mage, was she?”

“Maker’s balls,” Rylen groaned.

“Did you truly not know that Hawke was a mage?” Keran asked him.

“How could she have lived outside of the Gallows for all those years if she was a mage?” Morris wanted to know. “Wouldn’t Knight-Commander Meredith have captured her?”

“A question for the ages,” Cullen muttered dryly. “Alright, if that’s everything…”

“But Hawke had black hair,” Morris pointed out.

That brought Cullen up short.

“What has that got to do with anything?” he asked, before he could think better of it.

“I thought all mages were gingers,” Morris said.

The officers just stood there, exchanging confused glances.

Too many mornings had ended this way, Cullen thought, pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger. But before he could stop them, the others chimed in:

“Morris, you lived in the Gallows Circle for years,” Ruvena said. “Surely you saw that mages look like anyone else. They come from every country, every race…”

“Not dwarves,” Rylen pointed out.

“Well yeah, not dwarves,” Ruvena said. “But that just proves my point. There are a lot of dwarves with red hair, and they don’t have magic. There are a lot of humans with red hair and they don’t have magic either. Just look at Sister Nightingale. She has red hair.”

“And she’s _scary_ ,” Morris whispered.

“Right,” Cullen said, cutting this line of conversation short before Morris could derail them further. “Mages could be anywhere, and soon they’ll be _here_. So, we have work to do. Ruvena, you’ll be –”

“Drilling recruits,” the woman said.

“And I’m putting statues of Andraste into broom closets,” Rylen added, tipping his hand in a wry salute.

“I’m going to speak with Leliana about the maps,” Keran said.

“And Morris…” Cullen trailed off, noting that the young man had clearly forgotten all about apostates. He was now staring at the stone wall as if transfixed. “Um, you go with Keran,” Cullen finished.

Keran cringed but said nothing. Rylen and Ruvena looked a bit relieved.

“Alright then,” Cullen said. “Dismissed.”

Rylen, Ruvena, and Keran saluted. Morris turned as though he was going to ask something more. Thankfully, Keran grabbed Morris by the arm and dragged him off before he could say anything.

Cullen watched them all go, then looked down at the map of Haven and sighed.

“Broom closets, is it?” Cullen heard a voice ask.

Cullen straightened and whirled around at once. Behind him stood Divine Justinia herself. With that long white robe and the strange, flat-topped wimple on her head, she looked a bit like a human-sized chess piece. Cullen cringed and ran a hand over the back of his neck. He probably should not mentally compare the Most Holy to a rook, any more than he should have ordered Rylen to build chapels out of spare rooms.

“Most holy,” Cullen said, sketching a small bow. Given how unfamiliar he was with courtly gestures like bowing, it came off a little stiff.

“Commander,” Divine Justinia replied, her accented voice soft and calm. Even though she used his military title, Cullen could almost imagine she was saying, ‘my son.’ She took a step forward and waved at the table before him.

“So we need a few extra statues of Andraste, do we?” she asked, lightly.

“Well, you said you wanted everyone to meditate before the peace talks,” Cullen hedged. “And unless we pack them into the great hall like cattle…”

“An inspired solution,” Justinia said, surprising him. “In fact, I volunteer to pray in such a room.”

“What, really?” Cullen asked. “I thought you’d be holding vigil with all the grand clerics.”

“I could use a moment of quiet before it all begins,” Justinia said, almost to herself. “Besides,” she added, lifting her head, “the Maker hears our prayers no matter where our rears are seated. Is that not so?”

Cullen made a face. “Just how much of our meeting did you listen in on?” he wanted to know.

“Enough,” Divine Justinia said, lips pursed in amusement.

 _Wonderful,_ Cullen thought. He could handle officers and recruits well enough - even ‘special’ cases like Morris. Military rank and daily operations were familiar ground to him. But when cast out on the waters of social niceties, Cullen frequently felt as though he was floundering. Was the Divine offended by what he had said in the meeting, he wondered? Did she expect him to apologize for it? Cullen wasn’t quite sure. But then, that slight smirk suggested that she was more amused by his irreverence than offended. Thank the Maker for that.

“If you take one of the makeshift chapels,” Cullen warned Justinia, “you may end up meditating in a storage room.” Far from upsetting the Divine, she just inclined her head patiently.

“In the unfinished wing,” Cullen added.

Justinia chuckled. “Very good,” she said. “If I meditate in such a place, then I set an example, no? It will discourage squabbling over the gilded chapels.” She paused and sighed. “At least, I pray it will. We have enough to worry about without fighting over such insignificant things.”

Cullen had nothing to say to that. Justinia looked at the table for a moment, then raised her pale blue eyes to his face.

“Commander,” she said, “I did not come here to listen in on your meeting…”

 _Though that appears to have been a side effect,_ Cullen thought, still feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Rather, I came to tell you that you must not be seen when the delegates arrive in Haven.”

Cullen frowned. “I won’t enter the temple, as agreed,” he said. “Though I still think you ought to take Lady Cassandra and Sister Nightingale with you. They are your bodyguards, after all.”

“No,” the Divine shook her head. “We must all disarm if these talks are to work. But while Cassandra and Leliana will be watching the road up to the Conclave, I want you to stay out of sight entirely, Commander.”

“What are you saying?” Cullen asked, growing irritated before he could quite catch himself. “You want me to hide in the Chantry for the weekend?”

“Or as long as the talks take,” Justinia said, fixing him with a serious expression.

“Oh, for Andraste’s sake,” Cullen scowled. “Are the delegates really going to be so frightened by the sight of a former templar? I don’t even wear the armor anymore.”

“Commander,” Justinia said, gently. When Cullen just folded his arms over his chest, she cocked her head at him. She now looked as though the chess piece of her body had been bent in half, and was about to topple over onto the board.

“It is not just that you served as a templar, Commander,” Justinia said. “That would worry them well enough. It’s that many of them know _where_ you served.”

Cullen’s shoulders stiffened.

“You were there when the Ferelden Circle fell to demons and blood magic…” Justinia began.

“I survived that,” Cullen said, curtly, before she could go on.

“But you must know the rumors that followed you. Some said that you wanted to annul the Ferelden Circle. Some said you killed mages with your own hands when that annulment was not granted.”

“Just the former,” Cullen muttered, looking away. He was ashamed to admit even that. He was not about to own that there were times when the latter had crossed his mind, too.

“You were quite wounded,” Justinia said, softly. “I understand.”

No, she didn’t, Cullen thought. No one did. But that wasn’t the point.

“I left Ferelden years ago,” Cullen said, shortly. “In fact, this is the first time I’ve set foot in my homeland in almost a decade.”

“And in the meantime you were in Kirkwall,” Justinia said, patiently. “Everyone knows you were the Knight-Commander there.”

“Knight-Captain,” Cullen corrected.

“But when your commander lost control of the Circle…” Justinia pressed.

“When Meredith lost her _mind_ ,” Cullen interrupted, “I stepped in and did what I could.” He knew he was being rude, but he was past the point of caring.

“Commander, I admire what you did,” Justinia said, holding up a hand as if in blessing. “It is why I sent Cassandra to recruit you. You protected the people of Kirkwall. When everyone pushed you to chose a side, you stood in the center of both mages and templars and kept the peace as best you could.”

“And still it wasn’t enough,” Cullen said, looking up sharply. “I am well aware of what I did and did not accomplish.”

If Justinia was put off by his sharp tone, she did not show it. “Commander,” she said, mildly, “you did well. But the fact remains that you have a rather personal history with this conflict.”

Cullen frowned at the wall. _That_ was the understatement of the century.

“So because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, I’m to be punished now?”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Justinia asked, peering at him.

“Isn’t it?” he returned. “I will not allow my past to compromise the Inquisition’s future.”

“Commander,” Justinia said, “There _is_ no Inquisition. Not yet. Hopefully, not at all.”

Cullen opened his mouth, then closed it. That was true, he thought. The Divine had her backup plan in place, just in case these peace talks did not work. Cullen had not realized how little faith he had in the idea of compromise until just now.

But then again, it was his job to plan for a battle, so that the Divine might plan for peace. As the leader of all the religious peoples of southern Thedas, the Divine personified faith. As the leader of her secret armies, Cullen personified caution.

“I cannot just sit idly by while the mages and templars fill the valley,” Cullen said.

“Cullen,” Justina said, kindly, surprising him with the use of his name, “I don’t believe you’ve ever been idle for a moment in your life. And I don’t ask you to stay out of sight because I wish to punish you. But your reputation is well known to both the mages and the templars. I cannot allow their fear of you to cloud their minds. And with everything else that must be done, I do not have time to correct their assumptions.”

Cullen sighed. The Most Holy had a point. He didn’t like it, but she did have a point.

 _And she’s the bloody Divine_ , Cullen reminded himself. She could ask him to command her armies while wearing an Orlesian skirt and he’d be honor bound to do it. Staying out of sight - a reasonable request when he thought about it rationally - was something he ought to agree to at once. And yet, Cullen still chafed under the order.

“Very well” he said, gruffly. “I’ll speak to Rylen and the others. They’ll be my eyes and ears and I’ll…stay in here.” He curled a lip as he considered the small, cramped Chantry.

“Thank you, Commander,” Justinia said, smiling. Cullen nodded, realizing that she could have just ordered him to stay away, but instead had taken the time to speak to him about it. He supposed this was why she was the Divine: she really did have the ability to get people to see things her way with her words alone.

Now she just had to work her verbal magic on the mages and templars.

“I’ll stay here,” Cullen added, looking at Justinia gravely, “but know that if anything goes wrong - anything at all - I won’t stand by. At the first sign of trouble, I’ll be up at that temple, and hang what anyone thinks.”

“I knew you would understand,” Justinia replied. “But I do not think it will come to that. You’ve set up walls and guards enough to keep us safe. And now, give yourself a chance to rest, my son.”

Cullen knew he wouldn’t rest in the days to come, but he nodded anyway. He gave the Divine as formal a bow as he could manage, then pretended to return to his notes as she walked away. The word “OSTWICK” swam before his vision as he glared at the table. Then, when he was sure the Divine was out of earshot, Cullen stabbed his fingers through his hair.

“Blast,” he muttered to no one in particular. This was a complication he did not need. But, he reminded himself, the peace of the world rested on turning the Divine’s hopes into reality. So if he had to sequester himself in the Chantry in order for the talks to go more smoothly, then he would see it done.

He would do it, but he did not like it. He most certainly did not look forward to spending the next few days - or weeks - stuck inside. With a wistful look out the doors at the lightly falling snow, Cullen sighed and returned to his work.


	5. Amaranthine Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the cousins set out together once more

Kate walked through the busy streets of Amaranthine, gazing up at the stormy sky. It was rather hard to tell, she reflected, whether standing within the walls of a city counted as being out of doors or indoors. There was no roof over her head, but with all these high buildings about, she felt as though she was standing in a Chantry.

 _A very crowded, very dirty Chantry_ , Kate added silently. The cobblestones were smeared with mud and it seemed as though the locals used the alleyways as their trash bins. Kate found it astonishing that so many people could live in one place, and yet none of them had bothered to tidy up.

But ignoring the mess, what really struck Kate as odd about this city was that _she_ was in it. She was walking through this port like a normal person, wearing normal clothes, with no attendant guard of templars or family members to watch her - and no one cast her a second glance.

Well, that fellow did, Kate amended. As she walked by a bakery, a man came out with a loaf of bread in his hands. He stopped in his tracks and stared at Kate, his eyes trailing down her legs and then back up her body to her head. The man cocked his head, smiled at Kate, and saluted with his sourdough.

Kate just blushed and looked away. That was odd, she thought. Was the man actually trying to make a pass at her? Outside of a bakery? They hadn’t even been formally introduced, for Andraste’s sake. Flushing to the roots of her hair, Kate hurried to the end of the street, turned a corner, and ducked out of sight.

Putting that awkward moment from her mind, Kate continued on, following the instructions she’d been given by one of the sailors. Just one street further into the city, Kate spotted the building she was looking for. The structure resembled a large house, and above the door was a sign bearing a painted lion and a gilded crown.

Kate walked up to the door and raised a hand. Her fist was an inch from the door before she stopped herself. With an inward chuckle, she let her hand drop. One didn’t knock at inns, she reminded herself. One simply walked inside. Kate took a breath, then pushed the door open.

 _So this is an inn,_ Kate thought, as she let the door swing shut behind her. It was…

Well, it was disgusting, really. The floor in the common room was about as clean as the street outside - maybe less so. There seemed to be a sticky film over all the tables and since the lanterns were unlit, the only light came in from the high windows above. Considering how stormy it was today, Kate might as well be inside of a cave.

In the shadowy corner by the cold fireplace, Kate spied a movement. She cringed as she realized it was a nug, rooting among the ashes. Kate curled her lip in disgust. Nasty creatures, nugs. She’d kill the thing on principle, but that would probably alarm the guests.

Of course, Kate thought, looking around, it wasn’t like there were any guests standing about. Where _was_ everyone? It was mid-morning, after all. She had heard that taverns were busy places, but maybe that wasn’t the case. Kate walked to the bar. There was a counter with kegs behind it, and beside that was a short flight of stairs that led up to a hallway. The hallway was even more cave-like than the common room - a square, narrow hole leading back into darkness and flanked by a few doors.

Kate frowned. She didn’t want to wake anyone, but she _was_ in a bit of a hurry.

Feeling foolish, Kate called out, “Hello?” Her voice fell heavily into the quiet. Not even the nug responded to her query. There was long silence. Kate was about to call out again when she heard a thud. Kate heard shuffling, then murmuring.

“Hello?” she called again, a little more loudly this time. Almost immediately, a door down the hallway opened. A woman walked out, tugging heavy-soled shoes onto her feet. Her auburn hair was down about her shoulders, and she held a piece of cloth in her fist. As Kate watched, the woman unfolded the cloth - an apron, Kate now saw - and began tying it about her waist.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Kate took a step forward. It seemed someone worked at this inn after all. But before she could address this person, the woman reached the top of the stairs and finished with her apron. She gazed down at Kate with a sultry smile.

“Lookin’ to wet your whistle, stranger?” the woman asked. “Or are yeh lookin’ for a warm bed?” She strutted slowly down the stairs, giving Kate a wink for good measure.

Kate blinked in surprise at the second blatant come-on she had received that morning. Did all Fereldens flirt this outrageously, she wondered?

“I, um, no,” Kate said, clearing her throat. A thought suddenly occurred to her. Perhaps she had wandered into the wrong sort of establishment by mistake.

“This _is_ the Crown and Lion, is it not?” Kate asked.

”‘Tis,” the woman nodded. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, good,” Kate said. She was in the right place, then. “I’m not looking to stay,” she went on, as politely as she could. “Rather, I’m looking for someone. A guest of yours, or so I understand.”

“What kind of a someone?” the woman asked, suddenly wary.

“Lord Trevelyan,” Kate replied.

“Lord?” the woman snorted. “Do we look like the kind of place that serves lords?”

 _Not at all,_ Kate thought, dryly. But she kept this comment to herself. Obviously, her dear cousin had not thought to introduce himself by his title.

“His name is Robert,” Kate tried again. “Tall, lanky man in his late twenties? Dark complexion, gold eyes…”

“And a honeyed smile that will make a woman gladly drop her small clothes,” the tavern keeper finished with a sigh.

Kate pressed her lips into a thin line and refrained from replying. It seemed that Robert was here after all. Kate had heard several women say the same of him over the years. And good for Robert, she supposed, but Kate really didn’t want to hear the details of his bedroom prowess. To Kate, he’d always be her younger cousin, the goofy boy who’d followed her around the manor with jam on his face.

Besides, this woman’s praise was the most ridiculous thing Kate had ever heard. A smile to make a woman’s small clothes drop? Preposterous. A smile was a mere spasm of facial muscles. Lips and teeth, no matter how healthy, could not exert gravitational force. And they could certainly not exert a force so specific as to target only the unmentionables of the female population.

But Kate did not say all this aloud. Instead, she just said: “Can you tell me which room he’s staying in?”

“Here now,” the woman said, her smile fading as she placed her hands on her hips. “Who are you? You’re dressed like a merc, but you talk like a…” Her eyes suddenly went wide.

“You’re not his _wife_ , are you?”

“No,” Kate shook her head. _And Maker preserve whatever woman decided to take Robert on_ , she added silently.

“I’m his cousin,” Kate explained. “He was supposed to meet me at the docks over an hour ago, but I imagine he forgot.”

“You’re his cousin?” the tavern keeper asked, doubtfully. She looked up at Kate’s red hair, then back to her freckled face. “You don’t look a thing like him.”

“My mother is from near Highever, his mother is from Rivain,” Kate said, reciting the explanation that she and Robert had given a thousand times in answer to that question. “Look, I’m kind of in a hurry here, so if you could just wake him, miss, er…”

“Sorcha,” the woman replied. “And he didn’t mention no cousin. Didn’t mention no docks, neither.” Her eyes narrowed even further.

Kate sighed. Of course Robert hadn’t. It was, after all, the reason that Kate had been placed in charge of all the travel details. She was completely unfamiliar with the outside world, but, unlike Robert, she could at least get out of bed in the morning.

“Miss Sorcha,” Kate said, as patiently as she could. “I really need to find Robert. If you could just…”

A noise in the hallway caught Kate’s attention. The door that Sorcha had walked out of opened once again. Robert came hurrying out, carrying a bag, his bow, and a quiver in one hand, his boots in the other.

“Katie!” Robert shouted, loudly enough to wake the whole inn. “You’re here!”

“Good to see you Robert,” Kate returned. “I was just wondering where you were.”

If Robert caught the censure in her voice, he didn’t seem to care. He bounded down the steps into the common room and dropped his luggage at Kate’s feet. He then swept her up into a hug, spun her around once, and set her down. Now a bit dizzy, Kate couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s good to see you,” Robert said, grinning down at her.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Kate grinned back.

“Haven’t I?” Robert asked. “I’m told I’ve grown even more handsome over the past year.”

Kate snorted. She wasn’t about to encourage her cousin’s vanity, but it was true. Even though his clothes were a bit wrinkled and his jacket was unbuttoned, Robert was still the handsomest Trevelyan by far. In fact, with Robert, it seemed the more casually he dressed, the better he looked. Kate on the other hand, suspected she looked a bit like a weather-worn fennec.

Robert looked Kate over once, then frowned and confirmed her suspicions:

“And you, Kate…” He cocked his head to one side, then just gave up on a compliment. “Well, truthfully, you look dreadful, Katie, but I’m still glad to see you.”

Kate laughed. Leave it to Robert to say exactly what he thought.

“Why thank you, Robert,” she said.

“What have you done to your hair?” he asked, frowning at her.

“I sense that you dislike it,” Kate said mildly.

“It’s a bit short,” he sniffed.

“Well, clearly I didn’t cut it for you,” Kate replied. “It’s easier to take care of this way.”

“And the freckles?” he asked, nodding at her face. “Those have gotten worse. I thought you mag–” he caught himself, then said: “I thought you fine ladies spent all your time indoors.”

“You know I’m outside whenever I get the chance of it,” Kate replied. “Anyhow, it’s not as if you’re one to talk about freckles. You have some too, you know.”

“Ah, yes, but on _me_ they’re boyishly charming and devilishly attractive. Or so I’ve been told.”

With this, he glanced over his shoulder. Sorcha had resumed her position behind the bar, and he gave her a knowing wink. The woman smiled, then returned to wiping a dirty glass with a greasy cloth. Kate rolled her eyes.

“At least let’s find you something suitable to wear,” Robert went on. “I mean, what _is_ that exactly? A mercenary’s coat?”

“It is, actually,” Kate replied. “I thought it helped me blend in.”

“If you’re trying to blend in with a pack of vagabonds,” Robert said, teasingly. “And is that blood on the cuff? How many templars have you been killing, Katie?”

“I…” The question came at her from no where, and Kate choked on the answer. Behind the counter, Sorcha looked up in alarm.

Robert realized his mistake at once. “I’m sorry, Kate,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” she said.

They stood there for a moment, awkward silence between them.

“We should probably get going,” Kate said. “We have a boat to catch.”

“This early?” Robert asked.

“It’s a boat,” Kate told him. “They sail with the tide - whether or not we’re aboard.”

“So you’re saying we have no time for a pint,” Robert said, slowly.

“No,” Kate said, fighting an exasperated laugh, “We must go now.”

“Alright then,” Robert said. He reached down and pulled on his boots, then picked up his things. Robert walked to the bar and leaned over to give Sorcha a peck on the cheek.

As he did this, Robert handed Sorcha a small bag of coins. The pouch disappeared quickly into her pocket, and the woman handed Robert a small brown package in return. This he tucked into his bag.

“Thanks for everything,” Robert said with a wink. He then turned to Kate and waved a hand at the doorway.

“Lead on,” he grinned. Kate tried to say goodbye to Sorcha, but the woman had turned away. So Kate pushed through the tavern door and on to the city street. Robert stepped outside, looked up at the cloudy sky above, then smiled.

“Lovely day for a trip, eh?” he asked.

Kate also smiled. “Well, _I_ think so,” she replied. “I love stormy days. But our other traveling companions aren’t all that thrilled with the weather.”

“Companions?” Robert asked. “You mean we’re going with some more mages?”

It occurred to Kate that of all the people she knew, Robert was the only one who would ask that as a genuine question. There was no hint of worry in his voice at all.

“My friend Colleen is coming along,” Kate replied, setting off down the street. “I told you about her.”

“The Dalish?” Robert asked, falling in step beside her.

“Ex-Dalish, yes. And a couple of templars will be with us, too.”

“Templars?” Robert’s nose wrinkled. “Eh. I hope they like to play cards. Not much else to do on a boat.” He paused, then asked, “Is your Dalish friend pretty?”

Kate laughed, “As if you could handle her.”

“Hm,” Robert said, thoughtfully. He paused, then asked, “Did you ever handle her?”

“No!” Kate protested. “Honestly, Robert.”

“Well,” he said, “One hears things about Circles and their, um, extracurricular activities.”

"How Ferelden's Circle got those rumors going, I will never understand," Kate muttered. "Besides, you know I prefer my studies to lovers. And Coll prefers... Well, I've never yet understood her choices on that score, but to each her own."

"Preferring studies to lovers," Robert shuddered, as if Kate had suggested something vaguely dangerous. "You know Katie, I've never understood how you can be so accepting of people and at the same time remain such a prude."

Kate gave him a warning look, but Robert continued all the same.

"I'm just saying, Katie," he told her. "You're so damn picky..."

"Robert," Kate said, cutting him a glance. "I am *not* taking pity on some stupid friend of yours..."

"Who said one of my friends put me up to this?" Robert asked innocently. Kate just raised a brow.

"Alright," he said. "But the way they badger me is abominable."

"The way they go after women is abominable," Kate replied sharply. "They're only interested in me because I can't trap them into marriage."

"Freddy begged me to introduce you to him," Robert corrected. "And I agreed because didn't want you to be bored during that house party."

Kate snorted. "You wanted to court that Antivan widow and Freddy was competition. You guilted him into attending to me instead. Don't twist this around, Robert."

”‘Court’ an Antivan widow,” Robert sniffed. “I would never…”

“Seduce, then,” Kate said. “Look, I know for you seduction is all in good fun. But I’m not like you, alright? I get…” She was about to say ‘hurt easily,’ but managed to keep this to herself. Instead, Kate settled on saying:

“Not all of us like waking up in strange beds, Robert.”

“They’re not strange,” Robert replied. “Often they have very nice, soft, squishy women in them.”

“Like your friend Sorcha?” Kate replied. “Today you woke up in a strange bed and you nearly missed our boat.”

“But it worked out,” Robert replied. “It always does. And besides, I needed Sorcha. Needed her to, er…” He broke off, then quickly glanced away.

“Yes, Robert?” Kate said, looking over at him. “What _was_ in that package? Or was all that coin in payment for services rendered?”

“No,” Robert frowned. “Sorcha’s an old friend, Kate, not a whore.”

“Ah,” Kate said, tightly.

“Well, yes, you’re right,” Robert admitted, “that’s not much of a distinction. But Sorcha isn’t in _that_ business. She’s just someone who can get me things I can’t find elsewhere. If you take my meaning.”

“So she’s a smuggler?” Kate said, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Maker’s breath, lower your voice, Katie.”

“Sorry,” Kate whispered. She paused then said, “I always wondered how smugglers operated. I wish I’d been able to ask her some questions.”

“You do research on _that_ , Kate,” Robert warned her, “and you’re likely to get your throat cut.”

“Likely,” Kate grimaced. “Still, it’s fascinating. Do all smugglers feature nugs in their establishments?”

“Nugs?” Robert asked, confused.

“Never mind,” Kate replied. “So, what did she sell you?”

“Er, nothing,” Robert said, quickly. “So! We’re off to the Conclave, are we?”

“That’s the plan,” Kate said, allowing the change of subject.

“And it’s going to be held in, um… Denerim?”

“Did you read _anything_ of the letter my parents sent to you?” Kate wanted to know.

“I read enough to know that you were coming to collect me, and that I had time to visit the Crown and Lion. The rest was all boring tripe that I ignored.”

“Of course you did,” Kate shook her head.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Robert said. “I know enough about it to be worried.”

“Worried?” Kate frowned.

“Aren’t _you_ worried?” he asked her. “You do realize that this could all be a trap, don’t you? The Divine, the peace talks. Everyone is whispering about what the other side might do to take advantage.”

“Oh, I know,” Kate sighed, still walking along. “Believe me, we’ve discussed the possibility at length.”

“And yet, you’re still going,” Robert said. They walked under the city gates now, the low opening over them for a moment like a cave. Kate shrugged and shook her head.

“Even though it could be suicide?” Robert pressed.

“What choice do I have?” Kate asked, her voice rising. Beyond the gates, the houses grew thinner, giving way to hills and fields, and the road before them wound down and to the left, headed for the sea. Kate started to walk down the path more quickly, but Robert grabbed her elbow to stop her.

“What?” Kate said, turning to look at him.

“Alright,” Robert said. “I’ll ask you this just once and then leave it alone. How bad was it? Honestly, Katie.”

Kate looked away sharply. She closed her eyes against the memories and shuddered as a long sigh left her.

“That bad?” Robert murmured.

“It could have been worse,” Kate said, her voice cold as ash.

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t bad,” Robert said, sounding angry. “The rumors we heard…” He frowned. “They say…”

“Please don’t talk about it,” Kate implored him. “I don’t think I could explain it if I tried.”

“But now you’re going to the Conclave,” Robert said. “Explain _that_ to me.”

“ _You’re_ going to the Conclave, too,” Kate returned. “Explain that to _me_. Did you really just agree to come because my parents told you to? What did they say to convince you, Robert?”

Robert gave her a one-shouldered shrug and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t think I came just for the pleasure of your company?”

“You once called Ferelden ‘the land of mabari and mud and mighty bad food’,” Kate said, folding her arms over her chest. “So, no. I don’t think you’re here for me.”

Robert scowled and looked over Kate’s head. “I got in trouble with your father,” he said. “And don’t ask me how. But what about you, Kate? You’re going just because your Circle told you to? I never thought of you as a Loyalist.”

“I’m not!” Kate protested at once. “I’m just…” She sighed, letting her arms drop. “I’m not a rebel,” she said again. “I’m not _for_ the Circles either. All I know is that people died, Robert. Mages killed other mages. Templars killed other templars. And each side has been killing the other. This can’t be right. None of this is right.”

“And what do you think the Divine is going to do about it?” Robert countered. “You really think she can stop this?”

“I have no idea,” Kate said, honestly. “But she’s the only person who’s willing to try. Well,” she amended, “she’s the only person with any real influence who’s willing to try.”

Robert nodded, considering that. “So what will you be pushing for?” he asked her. “The end of the Circles? All the mages to return home like good little prisoners?”

“No. Well, I don’t know.” Kate’s brows furrowed. “I honestly don’t know,” she finished, weakly.

“Come on, Kate,” Robert said, frowning at her. “This is your chance to get free of it all.”

“And how many people are going to die in the process?” Kate wanted to know. “When innocent people are getting slaughtered because of this war…” She shook her head.

“Forget about all of them for a minute,” Robert said, folding his arms over his chest. “What do you want for yourself, Katie? Do you ever think of that?”

Kate looked up at the misting rain. She _did_ think of that. But she never allowed herself to voice her wants aloud. As a mage, it was simply too dangerous to articulate one’s desires. It gave the templars too much leverage. So Kate had learned to keep her feelings hidden. And even now, even though it was Robert asking, Kate couldn’t speak her longings aloud. So instead, she shrugged.

“Don’t you want to be free to live your own life?” Robert asked her.

Kate gave a bitter laugh. “That sounds lovely. But I hardly know what that would look like anymore.” She shrugged, helplessly. “I really don’t know, Robert,” she said. “We’re not children anymore, thinking we could just run off and live as pirates. I have no idea what would be best for myself, much less all the other mages in the world. I’m hoping that the next few days of travel make it all clear to me.”

“What? You hoping the Maker will suddenly up and speak to you? Andraste herself will send you a sign of how you, personally, can stop all the fighting?”

“Oh, that would be nice,” Kate said, giving a sad little chuckle. “But no. I would settle for a coming up with an opening statement that doesn’t make me sound like I’m a boot-licking Chantry apologist or a red-handed blood mage rebel.”

“Opening Statement?” Robert repeated. “Let me guess. You’ve already written it out.”

“Eleven drafts and counting,” Kate said with her usual smile, the kind that curled one half of her mouth and dimpled one cheek. Then her smile grew sad and she looked off down the path.

“We need to keep walking,” she told him. Robert nodded, and they set off again. A few steps later, Robert sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“This is a shite excuse for a reunion,” Robert said.

“It is, rather,” Kate agreed.

They walked on in silence for a moment, then Robert said:

“Speaking of family reunions, your parents were quite insistent that I keep an eye on you.”

“Oh?” Kate asked, “They told me the exact same thing about you.”

“Huh,” Robert said, almost smiling again. “Funny how they seem to think that neither of us can take care of ourselves.”

“True enough,” Kate said. “But they made all the travel arrangements and sent aid to the Circle, so I’m rather grateful for their overbearing nature at present.”

“Did you see them before you left?”

“Briefly,” Kate said, remembering back to that afternoon. “Just before I got on the ship to cross the Waking Sea.”

It had been an awkward meeting, too. Kate had wanted nothing more than to hug her parents. But duty and honor mattered more than reassurance to the Trevelyans. Her family would never risk displays of affection in such a public place as the Ostwick docks. Kate had just listened as they handed her the travel papers and explained the trip details. As she’d gone to leave, Kate’s father had reached out his arm. Kate thought he was going to shake her hand, but instead, Bann Trevelyan just handed his daughter an extra pouch of coins. Kate’s mother had looked back as their carriage pulled away, however. So that was something.

Ah, family, Kate thought with a sigh. No one else could make her feel quite so much like a child inside.

“My parents wrote the letters of introduction,” Kate told Robert. “I have yours in my pack, by the way.”

“No doubt it’s some bit of drivel that will make me sound like I’m an Orlesian debutante, out to beg a dance at my first ball.”

“Yes, that’s about right,” Kate smirked, thinking of her own letter. “They make us sound respectable, well-mannered…”

“And boring,” Robert grumbled.

“Five minutes in your company ought to disabuse anyone of the notion that you are either respectable _or_ well-mannered,” Kate replied.

“Thank you for that,” Robert replied, half-smiling at her. He paused there, then his face darkened.

“So, they’re sending us off as their tithe, aren’t they? Their own personal donation to the Holy Chantry.”

Kate frowned at that. “I wouldn’t call it that,” she murmured. “I think they mean well.”

“They’re cowards,” Robert said, harshly. He hiked his pack higher on his shoulders and his strides lengthened. “All the Trevelyans are.”

Kate had nothing to say to that, not at first. She just sped up to match his pace. At last she ventured: “They do care, Robert. They’re just…” she shrugged, not knowing how exactly to explain it.

Robert slowed, almost to a stop. He ducked his head, then looked up.

“And I guess I’m about to prove a coward myself,” he said, scowling. “That’s what it feels like, anyhow. The thing is, Kate…” He took a deep breath, then ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “I’ll be joining the templars once the talks are over,” he said, flatly.

“What?” Kate stopped short. “But I thought…”

“It’s decided,” he said, harshly, turning to face her. “Father won’t let me wiggle out of it for another year.”

“I thought you were too old to join,” Kate protested.

“I hoped I was,” Robert said. “But with the chaos, it seems they’ll take anyone these days. Even a rogue like me.” He tried to smile, but failed.

“If I’m lucky though,” Robert went on, “the mages will get their way and the Divine will disband the Order entirely. That’ll solve my problems.”

“And if they don’t?” Kate pressed.

Robert shrugged.

“You don’t have to join,” Kate told him.

“What else am I going to do with myself, Kate?” Robert said, raising his hands in the air in exasperation and walking on. “Your father has been pushing for this for years. And now my father’s joined him. I’m something of a disgrace to the family name, in case you hadn’t heard.”

“That’s absurd,” Kate said, firmly.

“Yes, well, I may have pushed it too far,” Robert glanced away. “Anyhow, that’s not the point. The point is, everyone’s sick of the youngest son of the youngest son bringing so much scandal down on our house. Either I make a man of myself and join the Order or I’m cut off.”

“Father would never do that,” Kate said, shaking her head.

“He was pretty angry last I spoke to him. I suppose I could manage well enough without the money, but I don’t much fancy the idea of never speaking to anyone in the family again.”

“I’d still speak to you,” Kate said, immediately.

“And that does me so much good when you’re off in the tower all the time,” Robert said, bitterly. Kate blinked at the vitriol in his voice.

“So you’ll throw yourself on the mercy of the templars instead?” Kate asked.

“It’s time I started doing something with myself.”

Kate frowned. That sounded like something her father would say, not Robert. Her fears were confirmed when Robert added:

“Anyhow, that’s what the package from Sorcha was all about. Lyrium is more expensive than I thought.”

“Lyrium!” Kate exclaimed, then caught herself and hissed: “Lyrium? Are you insane, Robert? You don’t want to get caught buying that stuff from smugglers.”

Robert just shrugged. “I figured I’d better have some on hand,” he said. “I know the other templars rely on the Chantry for their supply, but if the war drags on, it might get hard to come by. Better to be prepared, right? And if I don’t join the templars, I’ll sell it to one of the knights at the Conclave. Make a little coin.”

He spoke as if this was simply practical thinking. Kate shook her head, trying to make sense of this news.

“You know that once you start taking that stuff…” She broke off, not wanting to voice all the terrible changes that happened once templars got addicted to lyrium. It made them stronger, true. It gave them the ability to counter spells and weaken the presence of magic. But the more a templar took, the more mad he or she became.

“Please don’t do this, Robert,” she begged him.

“Don’t worry, Kate,” he said, quietly. “We’ll still have time together at the Conclave before it all begins.”

“And then after, the Chantry owns you for life.”

“At least I’d belong,” Robert muttered. “Right now, I don’t fit anywhere.”

Kate blinked at that. It wasn’t like Robert to be serious or feel sorry for himself.

“Robert…” she began.

“Don’t mind me,” he said, holding up a hand. “I’ll be fine. Anyhow, you have bigger things to worry about. Like how we’re going to survive traveling in that old thing.” He pointed down the hill, to where the docks had now come into view. “Maker’s arse,” he said, “Don’t tell me that’s our ship.”

“Just to West Hill,” Kate said, absently. “Then we take a barge up the canals and then another ship across Lake Calenhad.”

“And then a proper carriage, I hope?” Robert asked.

“It’s the Pilgrim’s Path, Robert,” Kate told him. “Once we reach the landing point, we’re expected to walk up the mountain to Haven.”

“Unnatural,” Robert replied, shaking his head. “Travel on foot? That can’t be what the Maker intended.”

Kate tried to match his smile, but she failed. Robert always picked himself up rather quickly. But would he continue to do so after this, Kate wondered? Would he still laugh so easily as a templar?

Kate quickly turned her head away and looked out at the sea, feeling worry and sorrow drop into her, like one stone after another. She drew a breath, then, with forced brightness, said:

“So. Mage and templar, off to the Conclave together?”

“I suppose so,” Robert said. “And after…”

And after, Kate thought, there would either be peace, or the two of them would be on opposite sides in this war. But she couldn’t bring herself to say that, so she didn’t. Robert didn’t say it either.

“And after it’s over, I’ll buy you a drink,” Kate said gamely.

“Just the one drink?” Robert grinned. “I hope it’s a damned big glass. After a forced pilgrimage, I’ll need it.”

“Fine,” Kate replied. “I’ll buy you a whole round. And then we can play a game or two of chess.”

“Oh, not chess!” Robert laughed, and shook his head. “I’m terrible at chess.”

“Exactly,” Kate replied. “And if you’ve been drinking, you’ll be even worse.”

“Wicked Grace,” Robert said, naming his favorite card game. “With a few drinks in me, we’d be equally matched.”

“Alright then,” Kate agreed. “Peace talks first, then drinks and a game of Wicked Grace.”

“Now that,” Robert said, smiling, “almost sounds like a reason to go to the Conclave.”


	6. Penitents

“You up for a game of Wicked Grace, Curly?”

Cullen glanced up from his work table and fixed the dwarf with a severe look.

Varric Tethras - rogue, storyteller, and general pain in the neck - had been brought to Ferelden to tell the Divine about what had happened in Kirkwall. Cullen rather doubted that anyone would be getting a straight story out of the dwarf, as Varric was known for embellishment. Clearly, the dwarf was bored out of his mind with all this waiting, for he was pestering Cullen at every opportunity.

Unfortunately, Cullen had a very hard time ignoring Varric. The dwarf seemed to know just what to say to draw people in to unwanted conversation.

“My hair does not _curl_ ,” Cullen protested before he could think better of it. Varric just chuckled in response.

“Not since Leliana gave you that tonic,” the dwarf said, squinting at Cullen’s head. “You got a lot better at styling yourself since you left Kirkwall. I’m impressed. I would have thought Ferelden would turn you feral. But now you almost look presentable.”

“I almost look…?” Cullen caught himself before he rose to Varric’s bait. He ignored the dwarf one moment more, then couldn’t help but say, “I still don’t understand why you call me ‘Curly.’ Even if my hair did curl once, it doesn’t anymore.”

“Yeah, well, ‘Blondie’ was already taken,” Varric muttered darkly. He frowned at the floor, then looked up and said, more cheerfully. “So, Wicked Grace?”

“Varric,” Cullen said, with a weary sigh, “The peace talks begin in the morning.”

“Right. I got that. And?”

“And now is hardly the time for a card game.”

“On the contrary,” Varric said, easily. “You’re stuck in here, _I’m_ stuck in here. Now is the perfect time for a game.” To illustrate this, he sat himself down on a nearby box, placed his hands behind his head and leaned back against the wall.

“I quite disagree,” Cullen said, looking down at his papers.

“Come on, what else are you going to do?” the dwarf asked. “Glower at the wall until all this is over?”

“I _do_ actually have patrols to run, even from in here,” Cullen said. He flipped through his papers, looking over one report, then another. Neither was the one he needed.

“Patrols, huh?” Varric said, folding his arms over his chest. “Too bad you can’t be out there yourself.”

“Maybe I should send _you_ to monitor the Pilgrim’s Path,” Cullen muttered.

“Ha!” Varric laughed. “As if Cassandra would ever allow that. Anyhow, I like it better here in Haven. It’s as far from the mages and templars as I can get and there’s even a tavern nearby.”

“Is _that_ why you haven’t run away yet?” Cullen asked. “Too much work to flee through the mountains?”

“Eh,” Varric shrugged. “That’s part of it. Also, I don’t imagine that a certain woman with the title of _Seeker_ would let me go missing for very long.”

“Good point,” Cullen conceded. Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast had gone to great lengths to drag Varric all the way here. She wasn’t likely to let him escape so easily.

“And hey,” Varric added, “I’m a sucker for plot lines full of doom and gloom. I just have to stick around and see the mess for myself. This Conclave thing isn’t going to end well, mark my words.”

That made Cullen look up at last. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Call it a hunch,” Varric shrugged. “Or, you know, literary expertise. I’ll tell you this much, if I were a mage, I wouldn’t come anywhere near this place. I’d suspect this whole thing was a trap.”

“If _you_ were a mage, someone would have made you tranquil long ago,” Cullen muttered.

Varric blanched at this. “What?”

“That was a joke,” Cullen clarified.

“You know,” Varric said, cocking his head to one side. “Sometimes I’m not sure about you, Curly.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It just means that sometimes you’re alright. And sometimes, you’re scary. I once saw you knee a guy in the groin so you could question him about demons or some shit.”

“Did I?” Cullen asked. He looked up briefly in his search.

“He turned out to be an abomination, if that jogs your memory,” Varric told him.

It didn’t at first. Cullen supposed it was a testimony to the insanity of his past, but all those abomination attacks sort of ran together after a while. Then Cullen found the memory he was looking for.

“Oh,” he said, wincing. “Right. The business with Wilmod.”

He cleared his throat, then resumed his search through the reports. Cullen didn’t want to dwell on that picture of himself, not when there was so much work to do.

“And now you and Cassandra and Leliana just stand in corners and whisper all the time,” Varric went on. “It creeps me out. What are you people up to?”

“Business for the Divine,” Cullen said vaguely.

“Yeah, and _that’s_ not evasive at all.”

“The Divine’s business is none of _your_ business, Varric,” Cullen told him.

“See, this is why the whole things feels like a trap,” Varric said, wagging his finger at Cullen. “Not to mention, the location isn’t exactly inviting.”

“We’re in the middle of the mountains,” Cullen replied. “There’s only so much you can do to make the place livable.”

Case in point, Cullen presently lived in a tent, the better to set an example for his men. It was damnably cold, too.

“It’s not the village,” Varric said. “It’s the temple itself. You know, the one that guarded Andraste’s sacred ashy remains? Fire, fire, ashes, and fire? Oh, and did I mention the fire? If I were a mage, I’d go running in the other direction. It all sounds so…burny.”

“Burny,” Cullen repeated. “I’m quite certain that is not a word.”

“Sure it is,” Varric said, curling his fingers and considering his nails. “I just made it up.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “And where would you have suggested we hold this, Varric?” he asked, though he knew he should just ignore the dwarf. “The Hanged Man?”

“Oh, so you _can_ joke about Kirkwall.”

“This is neutral ground. Justinia herself has blessed it as such.”

“The most sacred site of the Chantry is neutral ground?” Varric laughed. “Dare to dream, templar.”

“I am not a templar,” Cullen said. His words came out so harsh, he surprised even himself.

“Not anymore,” he added. Blast it, he thought, looking down at the table. Where were those reports? Varric was quiet for one blessed moment, then he opened his mouth again.

“You know,” he said. “I think we should hold this whole thing in the Deep Roads.”

Cullen snorted.

“Yeah, that’s what we ought to do,” Varric went on. “Just dump all the mages and templars in there and don’t let them out until they’ve stopped arguing.”

“Yes, and dumping mortal enemies into a darkspawn-filled cavern is decidedly better than inviting them to a temple,” Cullen replied dryly.

“Damn right,” Varric nodded. “Haven is cold, remote, and did I mention the cold? It’s the ass end of civilization.”

“Your complaints have been noted,” Cullen said. _And summarily disregarded,_ he though to himself. Just then, Cullen found the report he was looking for, and not a moment too soon. Lieutenant Ruvena walked up the table and saluted.

“Ah, good,” Cullen said, without really looking at her. He snapped the report out in her direction. “Take this to Sister Nightingale,” he said. “I’ll be down to check on the recruits shortly.”

“Uh,” Ruvena blinked. “Yes, sir.” She took the paper, saluted again and walked away. Cullen turned his attention back to the table.

“Well that was smooth,” Varric said after a moment.

“What?” Cullen asked.

“I think she was hoping for a longer debrief, commander,” the dwarf said, slyly.

Cullen frowned. “Who?”

Varric rolled his eyes. “All those reports pouring in, and yet he’s still totally oblivious,” he muttered. “So, cards?”

Before Cullen could refuse - again - a horn blew in the distance. He tensed, immediately associating the sound with battle. But then the Chantry bells began to chime a familiar melody. Cullen recognized it as the Canticle of Transfigurations. It was an interesting choice to begin the prayers, he supposed. A line from this chant had started this whole mess:

“ _Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him_ ,” Varric sang softly. Cullen stared at the dwarf in astonishment.

“Did you just _sing_?” he asked, blinking. “The _Chant_?”

“What?” Varric shrugged, looking away quickly. “I’m familiar with it. I know a lot of drinking songs, too. Anyhow, we’d better clear out. People are going to want to pray in here now.”

Varric nodded to the the nave of the Chantry, which was quickly filling. One by one they walked in, placed a fist over their hearts, and then knelt on the stone floor.

“I have work,” Cullen said, keeping his voice low. “If you’ll excuse me, Varric.”

As quietly as he could, Cullen gathered up his papers and headed out of the Chantry. Varric looked after the commander for a moment, then turned and considered the petitioners on their knees.

“Nah,” Varric muttered to himself. With a shrug to no one in particular, he too wandered out of the Chantry. The snow had begun falling again, in light flakes that seemed unconcerned with how long it took them to reach the ground. All around him, the bells’ music filled the air.

“The mountains make a better chantry than the Chantry,” Varric observed to himself. And as he headed toward the tavern, the dwarf sang softly: 
    
    
    O Maker, hear my cry.
    I dwell without fire,
    I live without light.
    O Creator, hear my prayer.
    The night is long,
    The way is dark.
    O Andraste, guide my feet,
    As sure as you once walked.
    Though all before me is ash and snow,
    Still let the Maker be my might.
    

* * *

“ _Though all before me is ash and snow_ …” Kate sang softly.

“What?” Robert asked, giving her a strange look.

“Snow,” Kate said, holding up her palm. A small flake rested there, quickly melting against her skin.

“What about it?” Robert asked.

“It’s part of the chant,” Kate said, looking down at the droplet left behind. “But it also occurs to me that this is the first time I’ve seen snow.”

Another flake fell on her hand, and Kate watched that one melt, too.

“You’ve seen snow,” Coll snorted. “Mythal’s tits, Kate. You can _make_ snow.”

“Yes, but _I_ made it. Not the Maker,” Kate returned.

“You’ve seen snow before, haven’t you?” Robert asked, looking somewhat troubled by that notion. “I mean, you’ve seen it on the Vimmark Mountains, right?”

“I suppose,” Kate replied. “But that was at a distance. This is entirely different. It’s…” she looked about, then gave a wistful smile. “It’s beautiful.”

“Right,” Coll said, grabbing Kate’s hand, “Snow is pretty, and you have other things to worry about. So this would be the part where you turn that scholar’s brain of yours toward other things. Like the peace talks? Remember those?”

“Of course I remember,” Kate said, letting her hand drop. “I was just appreciating…never mind.” She sighed. “Yes, the peace talks. I won’t let you down, Coll.”

“I know you won’t,” the elf replied, but she still looked concerned.

“Don’t worry about me, Coll,” Kate said, trying to lighten the mood, “Worry about keeping yourself entertained for the weekend.” She waved a hand at the village in general. “I don’t think they have a library here.”

“No,” Robert agreed. “But they have a tavern.” He nodded toward it with a grin.

Just then, a dwarf in a red shirt opened the door and walked inside. A round of ‘Hey!’s and ‘Varric!’s greeted him, and Kate heard music playing before the door swung shut again.

“You see?” Robert said. “Bawdy songs and Ferelden ale are _much_ better than a library.”

“Says you,” Coll sniffed. But then she smiled a bit and added, “‘Course, it’s been a long while since I had a pint. And I _do_ know some good Dalish drinking songs.”

“Are they naughty Dalish drinking songs?” Robert asked, raising a brow.

“Filthy,” Coll replied. “How’s your elvish?”

“Non-existent,” Robert admitted. “Kindly translate the good parts for an ignorant shem, will you?”

“I think you ought to stay alert,” Lysette said, frowning at them both. “Getting drunk seems like a poor idea. Especially if you’re trying to impress the templars, Lord Trevelyan.”

Kate pursed her lips to avoid laughing out loud. Robert was not interested in impressing any templars - save perhaps, Lysette herself. But Lysette had not responded to Robert’s flirting over the past few days. Of course, Lysette hadn’t responded to Colleen’s flirting, either.

“Stay alert?” Robert laughed. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, this place is crawling with guards. They hardly need _my_ help keeping order. What do you say, Coll? I’ll buy you a drink. Can you manage a full pint? Or should I make yours a half?”

Kate just groaned. “Please don’t break my friends, Robert,” she begged.

“Go on with you,” Coll said, frowning from one Trevelyan to the other. “You shems think that just because you’re bigger, you can hold your drink better. You’re about to find out how wrong you are, boyo.”

“Alright,” Kate said. “I take it back. Colleen, please don’t break my cousin.”

“I’ll take it easy on the lad,” Coll said, patting his arm as if he was a child in pinafores. Kate sighed and shook her head.

“And you asked me why I wasn’t taking them to the peace talks,” Kate said to Lysette, waving a hand at the other two.

“I was going to go to the Chantry for prayers,” Lysette replied, frowning. “But if you want me to stand guard over them in the tavern…”

“No, no,” Kate said, quickly. “They’ll be fine. Sick in the morning, but otherwise fine.”

“Go on and pray to your maker, Lyssy,” Coll assured the templar. “Robbie-boy and I will be fine.”

“Yes,” Robert agreed. “Say a prayer for all of us. And as for you, Kate, you’d better get going. The sun will be setting soon.”

“I suppose I should…” Kate said. She trailed off, looking up at the mountains beyond the wooden walls. On the way here, it was easy enough to forget about the coming Conclave. Robert and Coll had done their best to distract her, to make her laugh. But now that they were here, she could no longer ignore the real reason for this pilgrimage.

“Maker watch over you, Lady Trevelyan,” Lysette said, solemnly.

 _Maker watch over us all,_ Kate thought. She shivered, but she pasted a smile on her face.

“Enjoy Haven,” she said, brightly. “I’ll find you when this is all done.”

Lysette gravely shook Kate’s hand. Coll gave Kate a ‘you’ve got this’ sort of look and a quick hug. Robert gave her a cheeky grin, but it came off a bit queasy.

“Be careful,” Robert said. He wrapped his arms around Kate, and because he was so much taller, she found her cheek squashed to his chest.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him.

“I meant be careful on the hike up,” he said, releasing her. “I have this notion that you’ll get distracted by the snowflakes or the view or something and plummet to your death.”

“I will not,” Kate protested.

“Almost did twice on the way up,” Coll said, hiking a thumb over her shoulder.

“Just keep your eyes on the path,” Robert said. “You really should have gone with Ser Ira. He’s a bit grim, but he could have kept you on your feet, at least.”

“I wanted to see you all settled first…” Kate trailed off, then shrugged. “Well.” She smiled weakly, and then, having nothing else to say, she turned and walked away.

Kate reached the end of the street before she looked back, but her friends were already gone - into the tavern or the Chantry or wherever they’d wandered. And suddenly, Kate felt very alone. The air seemed colder, the snowflakes more brittle. Kate turned and walked on.

She plodded past the quiet smithy, past the empty stables, and up the narrow path. Along the way, she spotted a few nugs, rooting around in the frosty underbrush. Kate resisted the urge to blast the nugs. It wouldn’t do any good to compromise the peace talks, all for the sake of eliminating some vermin. The thought almost made her laugh.

As she came around the next corner, Kate spotted a great stone gate. On the other side was a narrow bridge, and the words “Penitents’ Crossing” were carved over the massive doorway. The name was quite fitting, Kate thought. She felt awfully penitent and meek at the moment. It didn’t help that she was running late.

Kate hurried through the archway, and was just about to set off across the bridge when someone cried:

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Kate gasped in alarm. She whirled around, only to find that the bridge wasn’t as vacant as she had previously thought. A man stood behind her, with a paper-strewn table at his side. The man wore a cleric’s tunic and one of those silly-looking sunburst hats that marked the brothers of the Chantry. An armored woman stood beside him. She was a few inches shorter than Kate, but with much more muscular arms and legs and she wore a sword at her hip. Upon her breastplate was emblazoned the symbol of an eye, with lashes like flames.

Kate shrank back a bit. This woman was a Seeker, she thought, nervously. The Seekers policed the templars - or they had done so once. But according to rumor, the Seekers had left the Chantry and gone off hunting mages. And if there was a Seeker _here_ …

Kate swallowed. Maybe this Conclave was a trap, after all.

“The temple is off limits to anyone but delegates to the peace talks,” the cleric told her, oozing condescension. “All others must stay below in Haven.”

“I _am_ a delegate,” Kate said.

The man snorted. “You are?” he asked, clearly unbelieving. “A templar recruit, no doubt. But you still can’t come in here.”

“I’m a mage,” Kate said, digging into her satchel at once. “I have papers and everything.”

The cleric gave her a withering glare, then turned his attention to the woman at his side.

“Seeker Pentaghast,” he practically sneered, “I _warned_ you about this kind of thing. If you don’t set a limit on when the delegates arrive, they will be trailing in from now until Wintersend.”

“Well, I hope the talks don’t go on _that_ long,” Kate said, giving a little chuckle.

Both cleric and Seeker turned and glared at her. Kate swallowed. _Oh,_ she thought. So _neither_ of them had a sense of humor. Good to know.

“Sorry,” she said, quickly. The Seeker turned her attention back to the cleric.

“All delegates are invited to attend,” she said. The woman had a thick Navarran accent and rather obvious disdain for her clerical companion. “The Most Holy would not close doors on the penitent faithful. As much as you love your lists, Chancellor Roderick, they mean little in the face of the Divine’s mercy.”

Chancellor Roderick glowered. Kate would never dare to provoke an armed woman in such a manner, but then, her sense of self-preservation was far stronger than her sense of pride. The cleric turned his attention back to Kate.

“Who are you?” Roderick asked her loftily.

“Um, Kate?” Her voice came out a bit squeaky. “Of Ostwick?” She cringed to hear how she’d managed to turn a single statement into two questions.

“That would be Lady Katerina Rosella Trevelyan, correct?” Seeker Cassandra asked.

Kate did a double take. “Have we met?”

“No,” the woman returned. “But I know of you. Your templar - Ser Ira, was it? He mentioned you’d be along shortly.”

Roderick rolled his eyes and turned to the table beside him. Kate saw that all the papers were neatly stacked, with a rock to weigh down each pile. The cleric reached out and made a little note on one of the lists before him.

“Right,” Roderick said, crisply. “Papers?” He held out his hand to her.

“Um, yes,” Kate said. “Right here.” She handed her letters over. Roderick examined them with brusque efficiency.

“Yes, yes,” he muttered, as he read through the letter from the Circle. “As official as we can expect in these times.” He turned his attention to the other letter - the one bearing the seal of a horse with it’s mane flying. His expression softened at little as he read that letter.

“Hmpf,” Roderick sniffed. “I’m glad to see that _some_ of you mages have ties to the right sorts of people. We need all the Loyalists we can get.”

Kate felt a flare of anger at his words. This man knew nothing of her, and for him to presume…

But years of learning to hold her tongue kept her from saying what she actually thought. Instead, she said:

“I am so glad you approve.”

The cleric ignored her. The dark-haired Seeker, however, stared at Kate more intently than ever.

“Go on then,” Roderick said, waving a hand at Kate. “The mercenaries at the temple will see you to your quarters.”

“Um, thank you,” Kate said. She didn’t like the word ‘mercenaries’ very much, but it was a great deal better than hearing that templars would be squiring her about. Or Seekers, for that matter.

Roderick said nothing in response to this, but the dark-haired Seeker nodded shortly. As Kate turned away, Cassandra said:

“Maker guide your path.”

Kate looked back. “And yours as well,” she said politely.

With that, Kate turned and walked away. A long, winding path lay before her, all ice and mountains and wind. With a shiver, Kate drew her coat closer about her shoulders, and headed up into the gently drifting snow.

* * *

Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. She prayed that she might refrain from doing bodily harm to Chancellor Roderick, at least for one more day. The man probably didn’t realize how many prayers she’d said on his behalf.

“A mage in merc’s clothing,” the clerk said with a sneer. He directed his glare at the red-haired young woman who trudged away from them. “Most of them look more like they came from an alienage than from a Circle,” Roderick went on. “It’s like they’re _trying_ to look pathetic, the better to sway Justinia’s sensitive heart. It’s likely to work, too.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes heavenward. Many of these mages had been living on the run for months, she thought. She didn’t support the rebellion in the slightest, but she did feel sorry for the mages involved. Many of them had been tossed into this war against their will.

Although, Cassandra thought, looking after the red-haired mage, _that_ young woman didn’t seem to like the Circles much. Roderick might have missed the fire in the woman’s eyes when he called her a Loyalist, but Cassandra had not.

Yet again, Cassandra wished she could be up at the Conclave, the better to keep Justinia safe, should the rebels try anything foolish. But the Most Holy had decided to leave her bodyguard behind in Haven. It was most frustrating. And dealing with Roderick only added insult to injury.

“I’m going to prayers,” Cassandra announced suddenly. Roderick frowned at her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be guarding me?”

“I am guarding the _bridge_ ,” Cassandra returned. “And as there are seven other guards within shouting distance and nearly all the delegates have arrived, I assume you will be able to manage.”

Without waiting to hear his further complaints, Cassandra headed through the stone archway and down the path toward Haven. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to go to the training area and smack something with her sword. But Cassandra figured that during the prayer hour, she ought to at least _try_ and settle her mind.

But surely a bit of food wouldn’t go amiss, she thought. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. It was little wonder she was so grumpy. With the bells ringing the Canticle of Transfigurations over her head, Cassandra strode off toward the tavern.

* * *

“You know,” Colleen observed, glaring into her glass, “This isn’t much fun without Kate around.”

Robert agreed, but he didn’t want to say so out loud. He felt he ought to at least pretend this was going to be an amusing weekend.

“You go out drinking with Kate often, then?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation in another direction. Colleen laughed.

“Go on with yeh!” the elf said. “As if we ever could while in the Circle. The templars don’t drink - well, not on duty, anyhow. And you think they’d let mages have spirits? Of either kind?” Coll laughed at her own joke, then stuck her nose back into her glass.

“Oh,” Robert said. He considered that, then asked, “So what’s it like in the Circle? I mean, what’s it _really_ like? Kate doesn’t talk about it much.”

“Quiet,” Coll shrugged. “Lot of books. Boring, really. I don’t usually mind it, but everyone’s awfully serious. Kate’s one of the few who laughs.”

Robert paused with his glass halfway to his lips. That sounded familiar. Hadn’t he said something like that once before?

“Not that Kate’s always makin’ dumb jokes,” Coll added. “But she sees how ridiculous it all is.”

“It _is_ pretty ridiculous,” Robert agreed.

“Sure is,” Coll said.

They lapsed into silence, each drinking slowly. The tavern music lilted over them, and everyone in the place seemed to be in the same quiet, contemplative mood that they were. Only the dwarf in the corner spoke with anything resembling enthusiasm.

Just then, the door opened and a short haired woman walked in. Robert cocked his head. Pretty women walking into a room always caught his attention. And she had an especially nice-looking figure from here. Though, Robert thought, she did have awfully short hair. What was with this trend of women cutting their hair short? He didn’t care for the fashion at all. The woman walked to the bar - Robert watched her hip-swinging swagger with interest. She carried herself as if she were the deadliest person in the room. Robert had to admit, it was a good look.

As she spoke to the barmaid, Robert studied the way the woman moved. A person’s way of walking told you an awful lot about them, Robert had always thought. Some women carried themselves like they wanted to keep a wall around them, while others sashayed about in open invitation. Most noblewomen tried to float gracefully, or whatever it was they taught them in finishing school. Robert thought they looked like someone had gracefully shoved something up their asses. Then, of course, you had the women who were always sneering down their noses, judging everyone around them. There were women looked tired all the time, and women who clearly didn’t care. Then you had the types who always seemed to have their eyes fixed on some spot in the distance. Kate was definitely in that category, Robert thought with a chuckle. She probably didn’t realize how many of his friends had taken an interest in her anyway.

But this woman at the bar… Robert took another drink, watching the woman as she turned to speak to someone. Athletic, Robert noted. But not trying to draw attention to herself. Settled in her own skin. Smooth - ooh, very smooth movements. She’d just caught that mug that the barmaid dropped. Snatched it up before it hit the ground. Those were lightning-fast reflexes there. And she was proud, that was for certain. Just look at the way she held herself. And – Maker! Robert stared as the woman leaned over the bar to point at something in the corner. Had she practiced that move, he wondered? Or was she unaware that she’d just put her rear on display for the entire room?

The woman turned around then, and Robert choked on his ale. His eyes went wide, and he set his glass down hard enough to make ale slosh out onto the table.

“I’ll be damned,” he murmured.

“What?” Colleen asked. She turned around, then snorted. She turned back at Robert with an approving nod.

“Well-spotted, Trevelyan,” she said.

“She’s…” he murmured.

“Pretty,” Coll agreed, glancing back at the woman again. “I can’t decide if I enjoy having you around for your scouting abilities, or if you’re a bit more competition than I like.”

Robert would have laughed at that if he hadn’t been so stunned. Coll was dead wrong. The woman’s face wasn’t “pretty.” “Beautiful” didn’t work either. “Exotic” was closer, but still not right.

“She’s perfect,” Robert muttered, scarcely aware he was speaking aloud.

Forget the short hair, he thought. More hair would just get in the way of those dark, up-turned eyes. Her nose was perfect, Robert thought. Her jaw was perfect. Even that scar on her cheek was perfect. She was just right - every inch of her. And with that rustic armor and the sword at her hip? Robert had never realized armor could look so sexy.

“Void take me,” he murmured. She was amazing. He hadn’t been this struck by a woman in… Well, not in months, at least. Maybe not even in a year.

“Get yer eyes back in your head, Trevelyan,” Colleen said, snapping her fingers in his face.

“I saw her first,” Robert said, quickly.

“Yeh saw your grave first, then,” Colleen snorted. “Did you not notice the tunic she’s wearing?”

“Tunic?” Robert repeated. He’d been too caught up in studying the curve of the woman’s jaw to notice her tunic.

“She’s a Seeker,” Coll hissed.

Robert nodded reverently. “And Maker, let me be _found_.”

“You’re mad, you are,” Coll laughed. “We’re supposed to stay out of trouble, aye? Still,” she added, thoughtfully, “I wonder if that cute barmaid fancies elves.”

“A Seeker?” Robert murmured, an idea suddenly occurring to him.

“I know,” Coll said, taking another drink. “I’ll go order us some food. And if I just happen to flirt with the pretty barmaid while I do so…” She grinned to herself.

“A _Seeker_!” Robert said, pounding his fist on the table.

Colleen, the Seeker, the barmaid, and everyone in the entire tavern turned to stare at him.

Robert flushed. He hadn’t meant to say it quite so loud.

“Uh…” he muttered.

In that same moment, the Seeker looked at him, and their eyes locked. Robert felt the world stop spinning for a moment.

Then the Seeker stiffened, spoke to the barmaid, and strode away. The world started spinning again, this time a little more quickly. The rest of the tavern turned back to their conversations with nervous laughs.

“Must be a templar,” Robert heard the dwarf mutter from the corner. “No one does ‘touched in the head’ quite like the Order.”

“Mythal love you, Robbie-boy” Coll chuckled, leaning forward across the table. “Here Kate talked about you like you were a worldly one. But you go just as moony as the next lad, don’t yeh?”

Robert didn’t bother to respond to this. The Seeker was getting away and he _had_ to talk to her.

“I’ll be right back,” he told Coll. “Order me something.” He tossed a few coins onto the table.

“You’re _mad_ ,” Coll protested. But Robert wasn’t listening. He hurried to the door as quickly as he could, shoved it open and walked out into the cold. And all the while, Robert grinned.

He’d thought coming to the Conclave was the end of his life as he knew it. But having seen that Seeker, he realized it just might be a new beginning.


	7. Seeker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robert seeks the Seeker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you might have caught this already, but there is another ship travelling along in this fic o’ mine. Actually, there are a few. The Cullen-Quizzy mothership shall guide my DA flotilla, but there are a few other boats in my fanfic seas.
> 
> For my full chapter note rambling about Cassandra and her awesomeness, [see here.](http://tumblr.sagefic.com/post/115876596489/fanfic-wednesday-or-sage)
> 
> As always, I welcome feedback. This ‘many ships in one fanfic ocean’ thing is a bit new to me. I’ll be interested to hear what you all think of it.
> 
> -sage

“Seeker! Wait!”

Cassandra stopped in her tracks, snowflakes falling faintly around her shoulders. She could guess who was shouting at her. It must be that man from the tavern. Cassandra’s heart began pounding even harder.

Maker’s breath, she thought. What was wrong with her? She’d fled from the tavern as though it had caught fire. But then, for one moment there, she’d felt quite panicked. She wasn’t certain why.

Embarrassment, Cassandra decided. That’s what it was. Well, and why not? Varric had been sitting in the corner, laughing at her. But now, Cassandra could admit that she’d overreacted. The cold air and bright light had cleared her head. Being shouted at wasn’t that much of an insult. And the fellow hadn’t been _that_ handsome. He was just some man. Cassandra could deal with men. She turned to face him.

_Oh my._

She’d been wrong. The man was more than handsome. He was fantastical. Cassandra could have sworn that he’d stepped right off the cover of the last Portia Plume novel she’d read. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dark-complexioned and golden-eyed - exactly like the Pirate King who gave up his privateer ways. More than that, the man walked with a kind of… what was the word for it? ‘Strut’? No, that was not right. That sounded too stiff for the lazy, sensual way that the man strolled right up and grinned. To Cassandra’s annoyance, the man had perfect teeth.

“Thank the Maker I caught up with you,” he said. He had a Ferelden-like drawl, both lazy and refined all at once. “You’re very fast,” the man went on. “But I rather enjoyed chasing after you, Seeker.”

Cassandra scowled. The way he said her title, it almost sounded like an endearment.

“Do not call me that,” she snapped.

“Isn’t that your title?” the man looked a little confused.

“Yes,” she returned, “But I have a name as well.”

“And I’d dearly love to hear it,” the young man said, fervently.

“I…” Cassandra’s mouth dropped open. His eagerness threw her completely off guard. What was this fellow on about? Surely he wasn’t trying to pursue her? Maker’s breath, didn’t he know who she was?

“Please allow me to apologize for shouting after you just now,” he said. “It was most rude of me. May we start again? My name is Robert. And you are…?”

He held out a hand in greeting, and Cassandra relented. She took his hand, and tried not to flinch when this Robert person squeezed it lightly.

“Cassandra,” she said. She left it at that, though she didn’t know why. If she’d wanted him to recoil, all she had to do was tell him her last name as well. But Cassandra did not. Robert grinned as if she’d given him a gift.

“Cassandra,” he repeated. He briefly closed his eyes, as if he were tasting the word on his tongue. In his mouth, her name sounded delicate and wicked and sweet. Cassandra had never heard her name sound like that. She yanked her hand back.

“What is it you want?” she asked, angrily.

“I want you,” Robert said, gazing at her.

Cassandra’s mouth dropped open. “I _beg_ your pardon?”

To her astonishment, the young man laughed. “Oh dear,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean it quite like… Well…” He trailed off, looking sheepishly to one side. Then he looked back at her and gave her another one of those devastating half-smiles.

“Alright,” Robert said. “I’ll admit it. I want you like that, too. But only if you’re interested.”

Cassandra sputtered, but before she could reply, the young man laughed again.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’. Married to your work, I assume? Too bad. All the good ones belong to the Maker, eh? You think Andraste would be enough for him.”

Cassandra nearly choked. “What? You should not… You are speaking of _Andraste_.”

“What?” Robert asked innocently. “She got the Maker’s attention. Must have been quite the lover, eh?”

Cassandra stared at him. She was so stunned by that blasphemy, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“My apologies,” Robert said, laying a hand on his broad chest. “Where are my manners?”

“Non-existent, it would seem,” Cassandra returned archly. Robert chuckled.

“True. I must have left them in my other pants,” he said, and the way he said ‘pants’ made the word take on a naughty sort of meaning.

Cassandra couldn’t help it. She giggled. She actually _giggled_.

She immediately smothered the sound with her gloved hand, but Robert heard it all the same. And in that moment, his eyes flashed with something more than mild flirtation. They flared with pure desire. Cassandra felt her skin go tingly.

“You’re perfect,” Robert said. His words were low and reverent, as if he didn’t even realize he was saying them aloud. “You _have_ to take me on.”

“What?” Cassandra blinked, growing angry at his presumption. “I don’t _take_ men anywhere, and certainly not strangers that I have only just met.”

“No, no!” Robert cried, holding up his hands in surrender, “I didn’t mean it that way. Andraste’s tits, I’m doing this very badly. What I meant to say is that you must help me.”

“Help you how?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Why, help me join the Seekers, of course.”

* * *

It was a brilliant solution, Robert thought to himself. It would solve all his problems in one go. Now all he had to do was convince this Seeker Cassandra.

Unfortunately, Robert wasn’t doing a very good job of convincing anyone. He was usually a lot more charming than this. But the woman before him was so very beautiful, and when she looked at him…

Well, right now she looked as if she was trying to figure out how best to remove his head from his shoulders. But earlier, Cassandra had looked at him in a very different way. For a second there, she had almost looked interested. _That_ was what had him stammering like a fool, Robert thought. That was why his proposition came out backward. He meant to ask for a position with the Seekers. Instead, he found himself wanting a position with _this_ Seeker. Maybe several positions, actually.

Well, and why not? Robert thought. He was willing if she was. He had never met a woman quite like this before.

“Join the Seekers?” Cassandra repeated his words.

Oh, right, Robert thought. That’s what he was out here for. He had to secure a job for himself. Cassandra’s beauty was most distracting.

“Yes, that’s right,” Robert said. He took a breath, and resolved to explain himself as best he could.

“The thing is, my family wants me to become a templar. But the Order doesn’t suit me at all. Nor I the Order, come to that. But I have to do something. It’s time, you know? And the Seekers, they’re _more_ than templars. My family can’t object if I join the Seekers instead. That way, I won’t have to guard mages. And I hear that you Seekers don’t use lyrium. You see? It’s the perfect solution.”

Cassandra shook her head a few times before she finally found her voice.

“I…That’s…No!” Her lovely mouth pursed in a frown. “Joining the Seekers is a holy calling. We are not a charity for templar cast-offs.” Her shoulders were now so stiff that Robert wondered how she wasn’t breaking.

“No, of course not,” he said, quickly, realizing he’d offended her. “I didn’t mean to imply that the Seekers will take just anyone. You’re one of them, and I imagine you know how to fight.”

“You imagine that, do you?” Cassandra said.

“I’m making this worse, aren’t I?” Robert said, sheepishly.

“Much worse,” Cassandra replied, but she looked like she was fighting another smile.

“If we ever dueled, you’d have begging for mercy within a minute, wouldn’t you?” Robert pressed. He now had that image in his mind, and it was growing on him.

“At the very least,” Cassandra replied. The corner of her mouth finally curled ever so slightly. Robert answered her barely-there smile with a goofy grin.

“You’re delightful,” he said, unable to keep himself from saying so. “Did you know that?”

“Flattery will _not_ get you into the Seekers,” Cassandra said, her smile vanishing.

“I should hope not,” Robert agreed. “I should hope flattery might get me to other, more interesting places.” When Cassandra scowled, he cleared his throat and tried again:

“Anyhow, I’m the best archer in the Free Marches, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Oh _are_ you?” Cassandra did not look like she believed him. Robert shrugged.

“I won the Grand Tourney six years running,” he told her. “I’m sure I’ll pass muster, if you’ll give me a chance. You _will_ give me a chance, won’t you?”

“I cannot,” Cassandra said, shaking her head.

“But you must,” Robert said, taking a step toward her. She held her ground. Her chin lifted in the air as she stared up into his face.

“Please,” Robert went on, now feeling somewhat desperate. “If I become a Seeker, that’ll get my uncle off of my back. There will be no lyrium, no vows of chastity…”

“Vows of chastity?” Cassandra blinked at him.

“Oh,” Robert said, realizing that he may have made a mistake. “You have vows of chastity after all? Blast.” He looked to one side, then leaned forward and quietly asked, “Um, just how strictly are they enforced?”

Cassandra’s mouth opened and closed a few times before words finally came out.

“There are no vows of chastity,” she managed at last. “Neither for templars nor Seekers.”

Robert let out a sigh of relief. “Better and better,” he grinned.

* * *

Cassandra could not believe the conversation she was having. Yet, she almost enjoyed it. This man was nothing like the stiff, timid recruits that Cassandra encountered on a daily basis. Nor was he like the stuffy, pompous Brothers of the Chantry. Robert was all confidence and ease.

Also known as arrogance and impertinence, Cassandra reminded herself. She could not like this behavior, no matter how novel it was.

“Look,” Robert said to her, still smiling that hopeful smile, “I know I’m doing a shite job of asking for your help, but I really do want to join the Seekers.”

“Only to avoid joining the templars,” Cassandra pointed out.

“True,” Robert replied.

Cassandra couldn’t decide if she was impressed by his honesty, or annoyed at his flippancy. But then, another thought occurred to her:

“If you’re not with the templars, then why are you here?” Cassandra asked. “You’re clearly not a mage.”

“Ah, well, no.” Robert gave her a wry smile. “My circumstances are a bit…” He sighed, then gave a small one-shouldered shrug.

“Alright,” he said. “The truth is, I only have one friend in the world. And since that friend is up there…” He waved a hand in the direction of the Pilgrim’s Path.

“Oh,” Cassandra said.

In spite of all the odd and outrageous things that Robert had said, Cassandra felt a sudden spark of respect for him. His loyalty to his friend called out to Cassandra’s own sense of duty. And that note of loneliness in his voice called out to her, too. But who was this friend he spoke of? Was this truly a friend, or was he referring to a lover? And why, Cassandra wondered, did she feel a stab of jealousy at that thought?

“Ridiculous,” she muttered to herself.

“I beg your pardon?” Robert blinked.

“Nothing,” Cassandra said. “As it happens, I cannot help you.”

“But…”

“I am not with the Seekers anymore,” Cassandra said, cutting off Robert’s objections. “In case you had not heard, the Seekers split from the Chantry several months ago. They no longer answer to the Divine. And so _I_ no longer answer to them.”

“Oh.” Robert blinked. “Well. Damn.”

Robert now looked so disappointed that Cassandra had the strange desire to comfort him. She clenched her fists at her sides instead.

“Seems that’s the way of things these days, doesn’t it?” Robert muttered. “Everything falling apart, just when it’s most needed.”

He looked up at Cassandra with a sad expression. Cassandra felt her heart twist strangely in her chest. But she did not say anything. She didn’t trust herself to.

“So if you’re not with the Seekers,” Robert asked her after a moment, “then what are you doing here?”

Cassandra hesitated before giving an answer. It had been nice pretending that she was just another soldier, at least for a minute or two. But she was not one for deception, so Cassandra replied:

“I am Divine Justinia’s Right Hand.”

“Wait,” Robert drew his head back an inch. “You’re her _bodyguard_? Oh, Maker’s balls. You’re Cassandra Pentaghast. I’ve heard of you.”

Cassandra felt a flare of frustration. He was just like all the others, she thought. She braced for the impact, for the way his gaze would harden, for the way he would subtly draw away. All men did at this point.

But to Cassandra’s surprise, Robert’s warm smile grew even warmer.

“The Right Hand of the Divine!” he chortled, more laughing the words than speaking them. “Oh, my Aunt Evelyn goes on about you all the time. You and the other one - the Left Hand. Lilly, is it? Aunt Evie’s always talking about how wonderful you two are. Devoted servants of the Chantry and all that. Piety is her sort of thing.”

“Curious that she’s related to you,” Cassandra replied dryly.

“Isn’t it though?” Robert agreed. “But wait. If you’re the Right Hand of the Divine, then why aren’t you up at the temple?”

“I…” Cassandra almost told him, but she caught herself. “No reason that concerns you.”

“Ah,” Robert tapped his nose with his forefinger. “I understand. Secret missions and such. You know, I’m rather good at clandestine operations, too.”

Cassandra got the feeling that this man’s definition of ‘clandestine operations’ was not the same as hers or Leliana’s.

“You might not be with the Seekers anymore,” Robert continued, “but you could still take me on.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I still haven’t given up on you,” Robert said. “You’ve got a job with the Divine and you don’t take lyrium. That’s good enough for me. Tell you what: I’ll become your squire.”

“I am not taking on apprentices just now,” Cassandra told him.

“Just a trial, then,” Robert replied. “A week to prove myself.”

“I have other duties…”

“Let me buy you a drink,” he urged, waving a hand at the tavern. “We’ll discuss the details.”

Robert looked so eager that Cassandra was almost inclined to say yes. But instead, Cassandra forced herself to say: “I cannot.”

“Forget drinks then,” Robert pressed. “Come down to the archery range. Watch me shoot and I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“You have a very high opinion of yourself,” she said.

“So do you,” Robert replied. “You think you’re too good to teach me, and I _know_ I’m too good to be taught by anyone else. That makes a pair of us, don’t you think?”

He winked at her, and Cassandra felt as if the sun had just grown hotter. But the prayer bells were ringing, and Cassandra’s duty had always come first. Reluctantly, she shook her head.

“I have things to do and…” She drew herself up to her full height, which was still much shorter than Robert.

“Good day, Robert,” she said. And before she could change her mind, she turned on her heel and marched away.

“Consider it, Cassandra,” he called after her.

And Cassandra feared that she would consider it, even though she knew she should not.

* * *

Robert watched as Seeker Cassandra walked away. He had half a mind to run after her, but he’d clearly reached the end of his luck for one morning. At least she’d spoken to him. And she hadn’t exactly said, ‘no.’

Of course, she hadn’t exactly said, ‘yes,’ either. This whole Seekers-no-longer-recognizing-the-Chantry business was a definite stumbling block to his plans.

But that was alright, Robert told himself. Surely there were other jobs he could do for the Divine. He just had to consider all the angles, line up the shot, and fire. And if he got to impress a pretty Seeker in the process, well, that would be good, too.

Robert turned back toward the tavern, whistling a bawdy tune. Haven didn’t seem nearly so bleak and small when he knew that someone like Cassandra Pentaghast was in it. Robert reached the tavern door, but then, just as he was about to go inside, he spotted a familiar face. A pale young templar was walking in the opposite direction, muttering to himself as he went.

“Freddy!” Robert cried out. At the sound, the templar jumped back a step, and placed his hand over his heart.

“Oh!” he said, stammering. “Tr-trevelyan. You startled me.”

“Sorry about that,” Robert said, striding over and holding out a hand. “I seem to have that effect on people today.”

When Freddy didn’t shake his hand, Robert frowned and took a closer look at the templar’s face.

“You alright, Freddy?” he asked. “You look a bit off.”

“Y-yes, fine,” Freddy replied.

“You sure?” Robert pressed. “I’ve never seen you look so peaked. Walk up didn’t agree with you, did it?”

Freddy swallowed, then shook his head. “No, no,” he said, a bit distractedly. “It’s the lyrium. The new kinds always hit me hard.”

“Oh,” Robert made a face. “That sounds…” It sounded dreadful, really.

And _this_ would be why Robert was going to avoid the templars if he possibly could. Freddy’s once-fat cheeks had grown quite hollow, and the veins on his neck stood out dark and reddish against his pale skin.

“Huh,” Robert said. “I’m sorry to hear it. I take it that templar training isn’t going as well as you hoped?”

“It’s just different is all,” Freddy said, looking away. “But what about you? I heard you were going to join us soon.”

“Eh, I’m working on it,” Robert said, vaguely. “But in the meantime, join me for a pint. You look like you could use a drink.”

“N-no!” Freddy said. “I was just here to… to go. I need to go.”

“Bound for the temple are you?” Robert asked. “Say ‘hi’ to Kate up there. Tell her I’m staying out of trouble just fine.”

“Kate?” Freddy’s repeated. “She’s here? At the Conclave?”

Robert rolled his eyes. So Freddy still had a crush on Kate, it seemed. Good to know that some things never changed.

“I need to go,” Freddy said again. “But good to see you, Trevelyan. Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Robert replied, but Freddy didn’t stick around to hear him. Robert regarded his friend’s departure with a frown.

Behold the legacy of the templars, Robert thought, grimly. The Order took perfectly normal individuals and then turned them into the most socially awkward and sexually repressed people in Thedas. Robert had long feared that the Order would do the same to him.

But now, Robert thought, happily, now he had another opportunity. And that opportunity had lovely brown eyes, a fierce scowl, and her name was Cassandra.

Cassandra, Robert thought, wistfully. It was a beautiful name, and it suited her. It was a little formal, come to think of it. Would she ever let him call her by a nickname, he wondered? Cass, maybe, or Cassie?

With that thought in his mind, Robert grinned to himself and headed back in to the tavern.


	8. The Divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate finds her own path and Cullen is over a barrel

The path to the Temple of Sacred Ashes was cold, steep, meandering, and treacherous. In that sense, Kate thought wryly, it was a perfect metaphor for the Chantry on the whole.

Alright, maybe that was a bit harsh. And yet, Kate could not help but reflect that the Chantry was most useful to people already in power - people like Kate’s own parents, for example. Meanwhile, the ones who really truly needed help - the poor, the questioning, and the lost - were most often left outside in the cold.

Kate sighed and her breath instantly frosted. Speaking of cold, the wind had picked up as she’d left the shelter of the trees. Kate stopped to adjust her scarf around her neck. As she did so, she happened to look over her shoulder. Kate turned around, gazing down in wonder at the view below her. She had been so preoccupied with putting one foot in front of the other, Kate hadn’t realized quite how far she’d come.

From here, she could see all the way to Haven. The village appeared quite small. There were a few blocks for buildings and a few dots for tents, nestled among the tiny trees. The valley between was long and winding, Kate saw. The icy river looked like a belt of silver, with bridges for buckles and a tributary for a sword. And soaring up on either side of the valley were the most magnificent mountains Kate had ever seen.

The Vimmark mountains may have served as the backdrop for Kate’s life in Ostwick, but they weren’t anything like this. These mountains seemed alive. They rolled out in every direction like an ocean of stone, and Kate felt she was a very small ship among the waves. When the gusting wind blew over the path, it lifted the snow and set it swirling. Kate could actually see the flow of the air, the way it mimicked the movement of water.

For a second there, Kate felt a deep connection between herself and the world around her. She felt as solid as the stone beneath her, as fluid as the sky above, as bright and sparkling as the snow that drifted over it all. In this austere landscape, the world had been stripped down to its bones. Here, she mused, all the secret patterns of creation were laid bare. Kate suddenly had the mad wish to sprout wings and go flying off of the mountainside. She wasn’t sure what the question was, exactly, but she was positive that the snowy sky held the answer.

_Lydia would have loved this place._

The thought crashed into Kate’s mind, and she let out a short huff of pain. That breath also frosted, curling away from Kate’s lips. In the same way, Kate’s sense of peace and connection to the world also disappeared like vapor. Kate found her hand was clenched at her heart, but she didn’t remember moving it there.

_If only…_ Kate was unable to banish the words from her mind. If only Ostwick had sent a delegation from the beginning. If only Kate had been more careful when dealing with the blood mages. If only Lydia hadn’t trusted that horrible apprentice of hers. If only it had happened differently, then Lydia would be here - likely _here_ precisely. They would have sent Lydia to the Conclave, and Kate would be home in Ostwick. Tears rose in her eyes and spilled over.

But Lydia had died, Kate thought. They had burned her body on a pyre, like all the others lost at Ostwick. Lydia’s ashes had been scattered into the sea, and Kate had no time mourn over the waves. Kate wanted to. But instead, she had gone inside and started preparing for this journey. Since then, her grief had been kept at bay by the distraction of her friends and the travel plans. Once alone, sorrow had found her and now threatened to overwhelm her.

_No,_ Kate told herself. She had to press on. It would not honor Lydia’s memory to give in to despair. As it was, her tears had frozen into thin little lines on each of her cheeks. Kate swiped at them with her gloves. It did no good, so she gave up and stomped on into the snow. She was being foolish, she told herself. She could grieve later. Right now, she needed to get to the Conclave. She would not be useful to anyone if she sobbed herself into an icicle. Kate might be able to cast frost magics, but that did not make her immune to freezing.

Kate trudged up the path as best she could. The passage of so many boots had beaten the snow down into an icy sheet in the center of the trail. Kate kept to one side. She was so caught up in her own thoughts - of Lydia, of the peace talks, of not falling off the mountainside - that she nearly missed it when the path reached a switchback. When Kate turned, she happened to look up. She sniffed sharply. The chill air scoured her lungs.

There it was. The Temple of Sacred Ashes loomed on the summit ahead, back-lit by the setting sun. Cast in shadow like that, it looked like the Black City itself.

Now _there_ was a cheery thought.

Kate swallowed nervously. She swiped her hand at her cheeks again, hoping that the tears were gone by now. Her face was too numb to feel anything but cold. Likewise, her mind was too numb to feel anything but a dull, detached nervousness.

Letting out a breath that frosted instantly, Kate continued on toward the Conclave, forging her own trail alongside the well-worn path.

* * *

Cullen stumbled through the door and swiftly shut it behind him. Thankfully, if anyone noted his departure from the nave of the Haven Chantry, they would likely think he’d gone into the crypts to for some work-related purpose. That suited Cullen fine. As it was, he wanted neither company nor sympathetic looks just now. The would only add to his discomfort.

Cullen hissed in a breath, stumbling over to a nearby barrel. This would have to do for a pew, he supposed. He did not sit, so much as collapse against the wall. His cloth-draped armor made a dull clank against the stone. He leaned against the wall. The cool stone was a mercy to his sweat-drenched forehead. Cullen took one deep breath, then another, then another. He set his hands on his knees, his fingers still trembling.

On the other side of the door, as many as a hundred voices raised in song. The peasants and farmers and soldiers and other assorted villagers were still at prayers. In voices both trembling and strong, they fervently begged the Maker for peace. They sang the Chant as a petition, praying that the important people up on that distant mountain might see fit to set the world back to rights. They had no voice at the Conclave, Cullen thought, and so their only hope of being heard was to speak to the Maker himself from down here.

Truly, he thought, there was nothing so fervent as the prayers of the desperate. At the moment, Cullen was rather desperate himself, but for other reasons. His prayers were a bit more self-focused. Right now, Cullen was praying that this episode would pass as quickly as possible.

Cullen felt as though an avalanche had buried him. The physical pressure of a headache was accompanied by a heaviness that seemed to settle over his chest. He felt a throbbing sensation go shooting down his neck, flicker through his lower back like electricity, then drop down and settle in his leg. The cramp flared so sharply that Cullen found himself biting out a curse. He shoved the heel of his palm into his leg, wishing he’d found something other than this stupid barrel to sit on. The floor was an option, but if he landed on the floor, he feared he might not get back up again any time soon.

At least it wasn’t as bad as some, Cullen thought. This was mostly physical, which meant it should pass by morning, thank the Maker. It was when the voices and faces accompanied the pain that Cullen really panicked. But this he could handle. He would just breathe in and out. He would remind himself that physical withdrawal accounted for physical pain. There was a pattern to it all, and Cullen could take comfort in that. Order and reason and even pain were far preferable to the randomness of his darker nights.

Still, Cullen thought as the pain ebbed a bit, this was beyond frustrating. He had gone almost two months now with nothing more serious than a headache. He must have pushed himself too hard without realizing it.

But least he could hear the Chant, Cullen told himself. The sound gave him hope. For even if he ached, at least he had made a difference. He had helped to bring Haven to this point. Justinia was at the temple. The delegates were at the temple. And perhaps they, like these people here, were equally eager for peace. Perhaps the mages and the templars were praying right now, finding common ground in their common faith. The Chantry had built the Circles, after all. Perhaps the Chantry could also restore…

Restore what? Cullen wondered, grinding his forehead into the wall. Did anyone want the Circles anymore? Did _he_?

A throbbing sensation behind his right eyebrow ended that line of thought. With his free hand, Cullen pressed his gloved thumb and forefinger to his eyes. That was a question for another time, he told himself. He simply had to weather this storm. It would pass, he promised himself. And until it did, he would cling to the Chant.

Eyes still closed, Cullen opened his mouth and softly, haltingly began to sing along:
    
    
    There is no darkness, in the Maker's light
    There is no death, in the Maker's life.
    Nothing he makes is truly lost,
    Nothing he creates truly dies,
    All things will be gathered to him,
    All truth revealed by his keen eyes
    
    

* * *

Kate had attended a great many parties in her lifetime. And she had quickly learned how to tell if she was truly welcome at a place, or if she was not.

Kate did _not_ feel welcome at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

She wasn’t sure if _anyone_ was welcome in this place, really. As she walked through the immense great hall, she tried to think of a less inviting space, and failed. Each stone rafter above looked like a wrinkle on a disapproving face, as if the temple itself was frowning at her for daring to disturb this holy site. There were people about, lots of people, actually, and yet, the place felt empty. The great hall made everyone appear as small as mice, and like mice, everyone scurried about alone. Kate saw a few people speaking in small groups of two or three, but they said little and grew silent as she passed.

Kate briefly wondered where Ser Ira had gotten off to, but she realized he might not want to speak with her. Kate had no idea where he was staying, either. One of the guards had given her directions to her own room and the room where the talks would be held, but other than that, Kate had no idea where anything was.

With no where else to go, Kate turned down a corridor and headed toward where her room was supposed to be. Along the way, she shuddered at the sight of the Chantry banners along every open stretch of wall. She could never look at the symbol of the sunburst without thinking of the Tranquil’s brand. Kate wondered if the decor was intended to intimidate, or if someone had just made a rather thoughtless oversight. Either way, she tried to ignore the velvet tapestries.

From somewhere in the distance, Kate heard singing. The Chant of Andraste had been set to an even slower tempo than usual, and it echoed down the hall at a lugubrious pace:
    
    
    And there I saw the Black City,
    Its towers forever stain'd,
    Heaven filled with silence,
    I cross'd my heart with shame.
    
    

Kate pressed her lips together and continued down the hallway, trying to block out the sound. The song went on to detail how mankind had fallen into sin, but Kate had no desire to hear again how pride and magic had nearly destroyed the world. Instead, she pressed on, passing several dark, empty rooms.

Turning a corner, Kate spied a pair of double-doors ahead. And just there, to her left, she spotted the the door with her name on it. A piece of paper had been nailed into the wood, and the words “Trevelyan of Ostwick” were written upon it in a bold scrawl. Kate cocked her head at the sign, then pushed the door open. From the hallway lanterns, she saw that she had been assigned a funny little nook - scarcely a room at all. There was a cot to the left and a statue of Andraste at the back. The statue had been set upon a barrel, and in the right corner were a couple of brooms and a bucket.

Kate gave a spurt of laughter. Was this really her room? After that grandiose display back in the great hall, she’d expected something all gilded and Orlesian and cavernous. Maybe they clerics had blown the Conclave budget on all those banners, Kate thought with a smirk. But her little closet was warm, she supposed, and it had a bed - of sorts. At least she wasn’t sleeping in the gloomy great hall - or out in the snow, for that matter.

From down the hallway, Kate heard the Chant rising in volume again, the cleric’s voices growing fervent in their account of how the Maker came to despise the Imperium of old.
    
    
    Those who oppose thee
    Shall know the wrath of heaven.
    Field and forest shall burn,
    The seas shall rise and devour them.
    
    

_Oh honestly_ , Kate thought, glaring back over her shoulder. Maybe she was just a very bad Andrastean, or maybe she just had a contrary nature. But right now, as the clerics droned at a distance about judgement and abandonment, Kate felt an entirely different song rise in her throat. It was a little like magic, she thought, the way that words sometimes came out of nowhere and cheered her. And so Kate allowed the other song to rise from her mouth and ring out into the little room:
    
    
    I saw a rose in darkness thrive:
    I saw the Maker's chosen child.
    She walked the path both lost and wild,
    And yet the Maker was her guide. 
    
    

Kate sang on as she shrugged out of her satchel and sat down on the bed. She started digging around inside of the bag, looking for her papers. As long as she had time, she might as well re-write her opening statements.
    
    
    The rose so fair, in snowy woods,
    Before the Sacred Ashes stood,
    When doom endangered all the world --
    
    

“Ouch! Damn!”

Kate’s song ended abruptly on a curse. She wasn’t quite sure how she had done it, but somehow, as she shifted around on the cot, the bed bumped the barrel. The barrel then tipped, and the statue of Andraste dove face first into Kate’s lap. The stone likeness of the prophet smashed Kate’s left hand before it went clattering to the floor.

“By the Void!” Kate hissed. She yanked off her glove and examined her tender fingers. That would leave a mark, she thought, grimacing. Her knuckles were all red, and would likely bruise. Kate scowled at the statue of Andraste. She then lifted it and set it upright on the floor.

“That wasn’t very nice,” she told the stone prophetess. “If you didn’t like my song, you could have just said so.”

“Ah, but our lady is a curious one,” a voice said from the doorway. “Likely she had some other message for you.”

Kate looked up with a start. In the hallway stood a woman in fancy-looking cleric’s robes and a tall hat. The woman had bright blue eyes and a very wrinkled face. Yet, in spite of her obvious age, the cleric struck Kate as surprisingly childlike. It might have been the sweet smile on her face, as if she found Kate’s singing and cursing quite amusing.

Kate immediately blushed. “Oh,” she said, feeling quite stupid. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

The woman chuckled. “You are one of the mages, are you not?”

The woman had a thick Orlesian accent, so her words came out as: “Yuu ahhrr wahn off zee maayh-gheez, aahrr yuuu naawht?”

It took Kate a moment to translate the words back into properly clipped Common. Once she understood, Kate nodded.

“I am,” she said. “I’m Kate. Of Ostwick.” To emphasize this, she pointed at the sign on the door.

“Ostwick,” the woman said, nodding thoughtfully, “We heard you had a hard time of it.”

“Wee haarrd yuu haad aaye haad tyyme aahf eet,” Kate heard.

“We did,” she replied. “But no more than most Circles, I suspect.”

“True,” the woman said, with a little frown. “I am glad you are here. Too many did not arrive at all.”

She gave a sad smile, and Kate didn’t know what to say. Then the woman’s eyes brightened a bit.

“I was surprised to hear your song,” the cleric said. “That was one of Sister Leliana’s compositions, you know.”

Kate nodded. “I once read that the bard, Leliana, traveled here. I guess that’s why her song just came to my mind. I didn’t expect to be overheard, though.”

“You sing it well,” the woman said, kindly. “And Sister Nightengale wrote such lovely hymns. I only wish she wrote more of them.”

“Have you ever met her?” Kate asked, curious now.

“I have,” the woman said, with a slight smile. “She is here in Haven. Perhaps you, too, will meet her before this is all done.”

Now there was an exciting idea, Kate thought. Leliana was quite a legend in recent history. Kate would love to ask her all about the Fifth Blight - about the discovery of this place as well. What scholar _wouldn’t_ wish to get an interview with such a person, Kate wondered? She could probably work it into a publication somehow.

“You know,” the cleric went on, interrupting Kate’s thoughts, “Perhaps that is why our lady threw herself at you.” Here she nodded at the statue of Andraste. “The prophet may have preferred that you sang her Chant, instead of Leliana’s song.”

“I thought jealousy was Mafarath’s problem,” Kate quipped. She belatedly realized that this might offend the woman, but the cleric only chuckled. It occurred to Kate that this woman was the first smile she’d seen since walking up from Haven. Kate found herself smiling in response.

“Sorry,” Kate said, though she wasn’t sorry at all. “I probably shouldn’t jest about such things.”

“Why not?” the cleric asked, folding her hands into her sleeves. “We could use a little levity. Everyone here is so serious.” She gave a slight shudder and glanced down the corridor.

“True,” Kate agreed, “But,” she added, thoughtfully, “I hope it’s just because they’re worried about the peace talks. I know I’m terrified.”

The cleric looked at Kate intently. “Are you?” she asked.

“Well, yes,” Kate said. She hadn’t meant to speak quite so openly, but there it was. A slight pause ensued. They two women stared at one another without speaking for a moment, and then the cleric inclined her head and asked:

“How do you find the Temple of Sacred Ashes?” It was a typical sort of small-talk question, so Kate answered politely.

“It’s very…historical,” she said, diplomatically. The cleric’s lips twitched in amusement.

“You do not care for it, then?” she asked.

“Oh, no,” Kate said quickly. “It’s impressive.”

“Ah,” the woman nodded, as if she’d seen right through Kate’s faint praise. “What is it that you dislike?”

“I don’t mind it too much,” Kate said, hastily, “The snow is lovely. It’s just…” She trailed off.

“It is just?” the woman prompted. As she waited for an answer, the cleric’s eyes searched Kate’s face. The woman gave Kate her full attention, as if everything Kate said was of great interest to her.

“It’s unsettling,” Kate said. “All this space, all these people, and its so quiet. Like a tomb.” Kate then gave a short laugh. “Well, I suppose it _is_ a tomb. Odd place for peace talks, when you think about it.”

“It is holy ground,” the woman pointed out. “It is a place that belongs to everyone.”

“Seems like it belongs to the Chantry,” Kate replied. “That’s not exactly everyone. And besides,” she went on, unconsciously assuming the tone she used when she and Lydia had discussed such matters over meals, “I’ve never understood the concept of holy ground. How is any one patch of Thedas any better than another? Does the Maker truly require that His people pray within a certain proximity to relics before He’ll listen to them? If the Maker is so selective in His hearing, then what good is He?”

The cleric blinked at Kate, once - twice. And Kate realized that she had not just spoken her mind. She had spoken borderline blasphemy.

“I…I mean,” she stammered.

“You have given this a lot of thought,” the woman said. And because her tone held no judgement, only open curiosity, Kate went on and dug herself in even deeper.

“Well, yes,” Kate said. “I never went on pilgrimage. Did the Maker listen to me less because I was stuck in a tower? Does he listen to me less because I’m a mage? I suppose some people might think so, but…”

Here she fell silent.

“But?” the cleric prompted softly. “Do you believe he listens to you?” When Kate did not answer at first, the woman added, “Do you hear him reply?”

“Maybe?” Kate said, looking up at her. “But not here. The Chantry just confuses things for me. When I stood - when I stand - outside, I feel as though…” Kate paused, then decided she might as well finish her thought:

“Sometimes I feel an underlying rhythm to the world. But I don’t hear that rhythm echoed in the Chant. It seems to me that if I really want to hear the Maker, I shouldn’t sit in a windowless temple while someone sings a dead woman’s words. I should walk outside, where there’s snow and sky, and look up.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Kate cringed. Her mother would be horrified by these flirtations with heresy - not to mention Kate’s utter lack of manners.

“I do apologize,” Kate said quickly. “I’m rambling on about my own opinions, and that’s most rude. I should ask you: How do _you_ find the temple so far?”

“I find it full of people in need of answers,” the cleric replied. “Like you, for example.”

“Ah, aren’t we all searching for answers?” Kate said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Not all of us are searching, no,” the woman replied. “There are those who want an easy answer, and those who will not rest until they find the correct one. I only pray the delegates here are willing to search a little.”

Kate had nothing to say to that. Well, she did, but it was not at all complimentary to the other delegates, so she kept it to herself.

“You raise a fair point, though,” the cleric said, looking up to the corner of the dusty little room. “But consider this, Kate of Ostwick. The ashes of our heroes are far easier for us to understand than the natural world. Most people look to the sky and the snow and see only a harsh winter. They do not see the Maker’s hand in any of it. They do not have your insight.”

“My insight,” Kate repeated with a self-depreciating laugh. “Also known as ‘doubt’.”

“Doubt and insight often go hand in hand, don’t you think?” the cleric asked. “Both help us to understand the world around us.”

“Are you sure you’re a priest?” Kate laughed nervously, cocking her head to one side. “Aren’t you supposed to stop me from thinking like this, instead of encouraging me?”

The woman just laughed, her blue eyes twinkling. “Why on earth would I want to stop you from thinking?” she asked.

“Most priests did,” Kate shrugged.

“Ah,” the woman nodded, and she looked a bit troubled. “The Circle priests were unkind to you?”

“Not really,” Kate said. “But they got tired of me - of all of us. I can’t blame them, really. It can’t be easy being assigned to a Circle. Mages are a difficult flock.”

“And why is that?” the cleric asked, quietly. Though Kate hadn’t meant to, she found herself answering truthfully, once again.

“We mages value knowledge far more than belief,” Kate told the woman. “I mean, think about it: We spend our lives observing the worlds of physical reality and the Fade. We study how they work, how our magic works in both places. There’s no room for superstition and guesswork there. That’s how mages are trained, six days out of the week. Then on the seventh, we’re herded into the chapel and told a bunch of old stories and told not to question them. Is it any wonder that most mages become skeptics? What else would we be?”

The cleric canted her head to one side. “You describe the situation quite accurately,” she said. “But now consider the opposite. Consider the templars. For years, they are taught nothing _but_ stories, nothing _but_ faith. They are taught never to question, never to trust their own will over the word of the Chantry. Then they are placed in situations requiring subtlety of thought and careful judgement. Is it any wonder that so many of them have become overzealous?”

Kate would have used a stronger word than ‘overzealous’. ‘Maniacal’ would be more accurate. But Kate conceded the underlying point all the same.

“So you’re saying that mages could use a bit more faith and templars could use a bit more reason?”

“Do you disagree?” the cleric asked, turning the question back to Kate.

“I think,” Kate said, half to herself. “I think that I envy the templars their faith. They always seem so sure of their place in the Chantry, so certain of their place in the world. I wish I had that kind of resolve.”

“They project confidence,” the cleric nodded. “But appearances are often deceiving. I imagine that many templars are wracked with the same doubts as you, my child. But they feel they cannot question the Chantry. Perhaps they need a mage like you to lead the way.”

Kate laughed out loud at that idea. “Oh,” she chuckled, “I’m sure that the templars would just _love_ following a mage’s guidance in matters of faith. No,” she said, shaking her head. “I would never presume to be a spiritual leader of any sort. As you can see, my faith is a limping, broken little thing.”

“If it limps, it lives,” the woman pointed out.

“I suppose,” Kate said. “I do believe in the Maker, but I wouldn’t be any good at leading anyone else. I just don’t have the stomach for forcing people to adopt my point of view. And I don’t have much tolerance for loud displays of piety.” She nodded meaningfully down the hallway, where the rising song of the Chant still rang through the temple.

The cleric looked from side to side, then leaned forward to whisper: “Neither do I.”

Kate laughed at the woman’s mischievous look. It was truly hilarious to see a reverend mother look so impish.

“Don’t let the Divine hear you say that,” Kate chuckled. “You might get kicked out of the peace talks before they start.”

The woman’s mouth curled in a secret little smile. “Why would you say that?” she asked.

Kate shrugged. “Maybe you wouldn’t,” she admitted. “I’ve heard good things about Justinia. But if she wants to hold peace talks in a place like this, she must have a great fondness for old bones and gilded halls.”

“Or perhaps,” the blue-eyed woman suggested, “Justinia hopes that removal from the world below would allow the delegates to forget some of their assumptions. See the snow, perhaps? See the Maker’s hand in it?”

“We can only hope,” Kate said, wryly.

“True,” the cleric replied. Then her eyes grew a bit sad.

“True,” she said again, this time, a bit absently. “We can only hope.”

At that, her blue eyes went briefly unfocused, and the woman suddenly looked much older than before.

“I should return to my prayers,” she said, softly. “Will I see you at sundown?”

“I imagine so,” Kate replied. “That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” And with that thought, she suddenly felt sick to her stomach again. This conversation had made her forget for a time what she was really here to do.

“I hope you will speak this honestly when the peace talks begin,” the cleric told Kate. “We need someone to raise these kinds of questions, to shake up the assumptions that we have held to for so long.”

“Oh, Maker,” Kate muttered. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

“But you must.” The cleric now gave Kate a very serious, very intense blue-eyed stare. “Many of the delegates have come to jostle for position, to use piety as a coin to buy their way into the new order. But you came here with insight and doubt. What we need now are not assumptions and answers, but questions that see to the heart of things. That is how peace will be found.”

“What we need,” Kate told her, “are more clerics like you. If the Chantry had that, it probably wouldn’t have landed in this mess in the first place.”

Kate meant it as a compliment, as thanks for this strange, but interesting conversation. Unfortunately, Kate had miscalculated somehow. Her words instead seemed to upset the woman. The cleric’s white brows furrowed and her whole face fell.

“No,” she murmured, sadly. “I bear much blame. And that is why I am here.”

With that solemn statement, the woman placed her hand on Kate’s head. Kate felt the warmth of the woman’s touch all the way down to her toes.

“Be blessed, my child,” the cleric said, softly. “I pray for your continued safety. May the Maker break the bones of this world for you. Only then can we heal properly. And now,” she said, lifting her hand, “I leave you.”

Kate shivered. And the woman left.

_Okaaay,_ Kate thought. That had been odd. It had been nice - well, up until that creepy statement about breaking bones - but odd. It then occurred to Kate that she hadn’t even learned the cleric’s name.

Somewhere down the hallway, Kate heard a door open and close. Kate peeked out and saw the corridor was empty. The double doors at the end of the hall were shadowy in the lantern light. Kate was again alone.

Kate turned back to her little closet. She lit the small candle with the flint and stone provided, set the light down on the barrel, and shut the door. She had no good place to kneel, so Kate sat on the edge of the cot, her hands on her knees, her fingers laced before her. This was not terribly comfortable either, so Kate stretched out on the bed instead. The moment her head hit the cot, Kate realized her mistake. Her eyes closed at once in exhaustion.

“Oh, Maker, I’m tired,” Kate muttered.

It wasn’t much of a prayer, but it was a genuine statement. She hoped the Maker would accept it, even if it wasn’t flowery or set to music. She also hoped the Maker would excuse her rather off-hand comments about Him and His faithful. But then, Kate thought, if He didn’t have a sense of humor about such things, there wasn’t much point in following Him, was there?

Either way, Kate decided that she simply had to rest her eyes. She would wake up when the talks began, she told herself. She had a few hours yet, and the bells would wake her, surely.

Sleep overtook her. The music of the Chant faded away into dreams, and the last thing Kate remembered seeing was the statue of Andraste in the candlelight. The stone lady smiled knowingly as the Chant echoed down the hall:
    
    
    Let the blade pass through my flesh,
    Let my blood touch the ground,
    Let my cries touch their hearts. 
    Let mine be the last sacrifice.
    
    


	9. Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the door is opened.
    
    
    In war, victory.
    In peace, vigilance.
    In death...
    
    

The warrior held a blade to his companion’s throat. With a flick of his wrist, he ended the speaker’s recitation with a fountain of blood. His companion’s armored body fell to the ground, the blood swiftly pooling on the stone floor. The dark puddle reflected the glow of the red lyrium that grew from the walls and ceiling. The lyrium flickered, making the cave appear like a chamber in a glowing heart, pulsing with pleasure and anticipation.

A small troop of soldiers stood in the center of the cave. Their faces were blank, as expressionless as the Tranquil. In the center stood a creature that towered above the rest. The creature had the rough shape of a human, yet he was twice as tall, his flesh grown long and pointed and sinuous. The red glow in his eyes might have been a reflection of the lyrium, from some other inner magic, or perhaps it came from a burning disappointment so deeply ingrained that it had turned into a living thing inside of him.

His gaze was fixed on the obstacle ahead. The Deep Roads were full of doors like this one: heavy slabs of stone set with intricate locks, all meant to keep the darkspawn at bay. Such precautions were easily circumvented. All it took was one life for each door. The creature found it a fair exchange. His followers were too enthralled to care about the price.

On the other side of this last door lay caverns that had once housed a dragon cult. Beyond _that_ was his destination. It had taken years of planning, months to grow the lyrium. But now, everything was in place.

The spell was in the creature’s mind, the words of invocation rested heavy on his tongue. But this would be no cry to the heavens. He had banished the names of the gods from his lips. This time, the creature would call upon nothing but his own will.

The ritual required but two more pieces, two fragments to create the final key. One piece took the shape of an orb, and the creature held that in his hand. His thin, claw-like fingers gripped a metallic sphere that hummed faintly with dreams of magic. The other piece would be found in the halls above. The heart of the Divine would fuel this blood ritual.

There was sweet irony in this, the creature believed. The Maker was to blame. And so the servant of the Maker would suffer most. Furthermore, the Divine would make a potent sacrifice. After all, the blood of the pure held the deepest power of all.

The tall figure stretched out his long arms toward the door. With his empty hand, the creature made a flicking motion. The blood from the fallen body shot forward in a cloud. The huge door began to tremble and shake as the locking mechanism shuddered open. The soldiers did not flinch at the thunderous sound. The door groaned outward.

“The mages shall proceed with me,” the tall figure commanded. His voice was deep in pitch, stilted in accent. A filter of magic lay heavy on the words, the translation spell making them thick and oozing. “But you,” he said, turning to the last of the warriors, the one with the dripping, sacrificial knife. “You shall remain behind. I may require…an exit.”

The warrior said nothing. All around him, armor shifted and boots softly padded away into the darkened corridor. The small company of mages followed their master out of the Deep Roads and into crypts below the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Their passing was masked by both bloodmagic and shadow.

Only the drained body and the executioner remained. The only movement in the corridor now was the steady _drip, drip_ of blood from the tip of the warrior’s knife. In the glow of the red lyrium, the blade looked like a crimson talon. And etched along it’s bloody edge were these words:

_In death, sacrifice._

* * *

Later, Kate forgot for a time. But what happened was this:

She woke and it was dark. The candle had gone out, and she could not tell how much time had passed. She might have slept for a few minutes and a draft had blown the flame out. She might have slept for hours, and the candle had burned all the way down. She did not know what had woken her.

All she knew was that she now heard screaming.

Kate shot off of the cot. She gathered ice in her palms, ready to fight. From the slight glow of her magic, she saw she was alone in a small closet. The door was firmly shut, and now the screaming had stopped. It took Kate a moment to remember where she was. Then it all came back: the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the peace talks. She was still trying to decide if she’d really heard a scream or if she’d just dreamed it, when she became aware of something else - something far more chilling than the ice in her hands.

The Veil felt wrong. The barrier between the worlds stretched thin and fibrous - as though someone were tearing apart balls of cotton until they squeaked. The very sensation of it made Kate’s teeth hurt.

She was on her feet in an instant, pushing the door open with her gloved right hand and holding up a shard of glowing ice with her left.

The corridor was dark and cold. The lanterns were out. Kate smelled something iron-like, and she heard nothing but her own breathing. There were no bells, no chant, nothing at all. As her small light cast a bluish sheen over all the stones, Kate felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

 _What in the Void was going on,_ she wondered?

Just then, the hall echoed with another scream.

“Someone, help me!”

The sound came from the end of the hallway, where a pair of double doors were half-hidden in shadow. In that moment, Kate realized two things: First, that panicked, accented voice belonged to the blue-eyed cleric. And secondly, there was no one else around to help.

Kate took off running toward the end of the hall. She nearly fell on her face when one boot slid along the wet stones. Later, she would realize that she had stepped in a puddle of blood.

Kate skidded to the door. She dropped her hand and the glowing ice melted. Kate placed her hands on the door and pushed, but it did not budge. From inside, she heard the cleric begging for an explanation:

“Why are you doing this?”

Somewhere in the back of Kate’s mind, in the place that was not completely numb with panic, the woman’s words struck Kate as incredible. Even when she was in agony, the cleric did not beg for her life, but for understanding.

Kate heard other voices now, low murmurings, the auditory hum of magic that accompanied the sickening, twisting feeling that ran through the Veil. And then there was another voice, deeper and laced with magic and _wrong_.

“Keep the sacrifice still,” it thrummed.

Kate registered only that one word: ‘sacrifice.’ That was enough to explain why the Veil was torn, why there was blood on the floor, why the cleric was screaming. Kate didn’t know who these bloodmages were or how many they numbered. All she knew was that she could not run away from this - from any of this.

Kate took hold of the shredded Veil as best she could and gathered magic into her palms - ice and fire and whatever else she could think of.

And then, with all her might, Kate blasted the door open.


	10. Torn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Veil is torn
    
    
    The setting sun bled light on the jawbone
    of the mountains. Above, in the dark dome 
    of sky, inky clouds hid the stars from sight. 
    The evening crept along on quiet feet, 
    cloaked in deep hues of purple and of gray. 
    A wolf's howl echoed from the hills beyond
    and lanterns flickered to life in the huts
    of a small village at the river's edge. 
    
    This village was too small to have a name;
    its lights too few against the night's darkness. 
    Under the eaves of one outlying shed, 
    a solitary figure stood, alone.
    He dressed in well-worn, oft-patched traveler's clothes. 
    A hood hid his pale face in shadows deep
    and he leaned on a simple, wooden staff
    while his eyes searched the distant mountain range.
    
    His pose was that of an old, weary man.
    But his eyes shone intense as a youth's,
    or grey thunderclouds, full of banked lightning.
    
    For a single moment, the world lay calm. 
    The sun rested upon the distant peaks, 
    a summit made of star. Then it, as well, 
    winked out of sight, and all the sky grew dim. 
    
    And then - because of pride - the world was changed.
    
    Green light exploded into the heavens. 
    A cloud of ash and snow burst from the peaks. 
    A roar like thunder rumbled through the night. 
    A raven shrieked into the sky and all
    the villagers stumbled out of their homes. 
    They looked at one another in alarm, 
    and one by one, their fearful gazes rose
    up from the ground to settle on the sky.
    A green light now gleamed over the mountains;
    a glowing whirlpool tethered hill and sky.
    And all the clouds of heaven spun around
    in a vortex of rock, magic, and breach.
    
    None of the villagers understood it,
    but the solitary wanderer did.
    He felt the magic roll through like a fog,
    as though a layer of the Veil was peeled
    back and other magics came bubbling up.
    The hooded one felt all this in his mind,
    felt how the poison flowed from that far sky. 
    
    The Veil began to twist and shift and tear.
    But none of the villagers noticed this. 
    They stood and pointed, whispering their way
    from 'what?' and 'how?' to 'conclave' and 'magic.' 
    The hooded one, however, strode forward, 
    staff ready, magic glowing in his palms.
    
    "Away with you!" the mage cried to the crowd. 
    "You all must flee this place, or else perish!"
    
    The stranger's warning came to late. For then
    green light shattered the night and demons burst
    from a rift in the worlds themselves and poured 
    a host of demons right into their midst.
    
    The demons screamed from throats that had not breathed
    the heavy pressure of the air before, 
    they clawed with hands that knew not weight nor touch
    and snapped with mouths that longed to taste real flesh. 
    
    The wiser villagers turned and fled, then,
    but the the duller ones just stood there, slack-jawed. 
    And in the center of the startled town,
    the rift writhed like a body with fever.
    
    In their madness, the demons threw themselves 
    at the nearest living beings: a man
    who stared at the rift one moment too long, 
    a woman who had been pushed to the ground. 
    The shades killed a farmer for having breath;
    and gutted the midwife for her heartbeat.
    Then the creatures moved on, their rage undimmed.
    
    The hooded figure alone held his ground. 
    He raised his hands and a flash of lightning 
    snapped out into the air. A demon fell.
    The mage then swung his staff. A shade drew back
    but not so fast as to escape the blade.
    The creature's malformed body fell to earth
    as nothing more than a heap of dark rags. 
    
    The mage fought on, with spells and with his staff. 
    And yet for all the magic that he cast
    he could not close the tear between the worlds.
    Again his staff he swung. Again the mage
    struck down a creature from beyond the Veil.
    There was a shriek, a grunt, and then -- nothing. 
    The only sound that now remained was the
    faint crackle of energy that came from 
    the still-glowing and still-pulsing green rift. 
    
    In the quiet, the mage raised both his hands. 
    Magic shimmered between his open palms, 
    and he swept his arms wide, as if swimming 
    through the ocean. But still the rift remained, 
    twisting upon itself in sickly shades 
    of glowing green and gold. The mage cursed then,
    his words ancient, elvish. He tried again. 
    
    Again, nothing happened.
    
    "What is that thing?"
    
    The mage turned to find that a few townsfolk
    had not fled from the rift. Those few now stood, 
    watching him warily. The mage now frowned. 
    He had not planned for scrutiny. He said:
    
    "It feels as though this opens to the Fade." 
    His voice was low and regal as a lord's.
    
    "The Fade?" one fellow repeated, scowling. 
    
    "Like in the Chant?" another person asked.
    
    "The Fade is nothing like your Chant declares," 
    the mage replied, and managed not to sneer.
    "But yes, that is explanation enough. 
    I cannot say how this door has opened,
    nor can I seem to close it on my own. 
    But more wraiths will undoubtedly appear. 
    You may fight on, against the endless shades, 
    or you may flee this place. The choice is yours."
    
    At this pronouncement, the gathered townsfolk
    looked at one another quite nervously. 
    Being farmers, they were used to grim news, 
    but were accustomed to weather and wolves,
    not dealing with magic and demonspawn. 
    There was a pause, then a large fellow spoke.
    
    "How would you all know that?" he asked the mage. 
    "How do we know you didn't make that thing?"
    He pointed at the still-flickering rift.
    "Maybe you're an apostate what summoned 
    those demons to scare us. Maybe you'll just 
    rob us blind the moment we run from here."
    
    The mage did not bother to hide his ire.
    
    "Your paltry gold means naught to one like me.
    I only care that this tear will not close. 
    I will attempt to shut this rift once more, 
    but then..."
    
    "But then?" a villager asked him.
    
    The mage did not get a chance to answer.
    For then what looked like glowing vines unfurled 
    out of the rift, and the ground boiled beneath.
    
    "Fight now or run!" the hooded figure cried. 
    He readied his staff and his magic, too,
    not caring what choice the villagers made.
    
    Before him, the rift burst open again, 
    and demons poured forth from the world of dreams. 
    One of the demons reached out a long arm 
    and sliced the mage with its razor-sharp claws. 
    The wound went deep, through skin and muscle, too,
    and nearly down to bone. The mage ground out
    an ancient curse at the hot, burning pain.
    
    And yet, the mage fought on. The night grew dark,
    and soon the only light came from the rift
    and flashes of the mage's own lightning. 
    A demon might have gotten past the mage 
    and attacked the townsfolk - he did not know. 
    And then, at last, the rift fell silent, still. 
    No demons came, but the air remained torn. 
    
    The mage reached out his hands. Again, he tried
    to mend the tear. And yet again, he failed. 
    
    This was not right, he thought, desperately.
    This was like holding a cloud in his fist:
    his hand might close on air yet never grasp
    anything of substance. The Veil had gone 
    all frayed along the edges of the rift. 
    The mage looked at his hands in frustration, 
    then let them drop. His arm felt pain. He winced.
    He tore away the bloodied sleeve and cast
    a simple healing spell upon himself.
    Then he looked to the village behind him. 
    
    The huts were still, and all the windows dark. 
    It seemed all of the villagers had fled. 
    The mage sighed then, and reached up to his hood. 
    He pushed it back, and let the cool night air 
    rest upon his bald head and pointed ears. 
    
    This rift naught was but a vein, Solas thought.
    He turned his head to face the distant sky. 
    But that breach there - that was the glowing heart 
    of all this wrong - of all this mystery. 
    
    And with that thought in mind, Solas set out
    into the night, into green-shadowed gloom.
    The distant breach flickered as his beacon. 
    Behind him, the rift crackled and it pulsed, 
    but he found he could not concern himself 
    with any threats that might yet linger here. 
    The breach over Haven must be closed soon
    else all the world - and all the Fade - would break.
    
    
    

* * *

Cassandra’s heart hammered. The wind rushed by her ears as she dashed up the hill toward the Penitent’s Crossing.

She should not have left Justinia alone, Cassandra told herself. That thought pounded through her mind with every footfall. She should have protested more. She should have insisted upon doing a bodyguard’s duty, insisted on accompanying the Divine to the Conclave. All this week, Cassandra had felt misgivings about these peace talks. Now, it seemed her instincts had been correct. But Cassandra took no pleasure from being right. If anything, it made her regret that much sharper.

“Lady Cassandra!”

As she approached the bridge, two soldiers materialized out of the shadows. Their eyes were wide with fear, and they looked at her as if she were a lifeline.

“What do we do?” one of them asked, while the other interrupted, saying, “What _is_ that thing?”

Cassandra looked in the direction that the second fellow pointed. She shook her head, not quite knowing what to say. She had heard the blast, had seen the glow in the sky. Now she could now see a finger of light, pointing directly down at the Conclave. And more than that, as a Seeker, she felt a lingering trace of magic flowing from that direction. She didn’t know what that meant, exactly. All she knew for certain was that she had to reach Justina as quickly as possible.

“What should we do?” one of the soldiers asked her. “Do we still guard the bridge, or should we go up? Or…?”

Whatever orders the fellow might have invented for himself, he was cut off by a sudden flash of light. A ball of green fire came crashing down like a falling star. It smashed into the hill opposite the bridge, dropping rock and snow all over the path. Then, to Cassandra’s shock, demons climbed out of the debris.

“Hold this position!” she shouted to the soldiers. She drew her sword and readied her shield, then ran toward the creatures.

They met in the center of the bridge, with a clash of metal and bone. Cassandra struck at the first demon where its knobby head met its spindly neck, and severed the appendage from its shoulders. The next one clawed at her - Cassandra bashed the thing with her shield, then lunged forward, stabbing it right where a heart should be. The demon shrieked in pain, and Cassandra thrust her sword upward. The ghostly body dissolved along the blade in a puff of ash and screamed itself away.

Cassandra took a breath, stopping just long enough to wonder how these demons had fallen out of the sky in the first place. Then, from across the bridge, a whole crowd of demons flew at her.

Instinct and fury drove Cassandra’s sword as she fought them back. A shield bash stunned the first shade, a following slice beheaded it. Cassandra turned and slashed at a second creature, kicked a third, then stabbed it through whatever it had that passed as a face. But there were too many of them, and as Cassandra lunged at a fourth shade, a wraith flew and clawed at her face from behind.

Cassandra shouted loudly, more from anger than from pain. Blood streamed from her brow as she wrenched away. She tried to angle herself so that she could see all the creatures at once. As she did so, she realized her disadvantage. These things could fly, while she was stuck on the narrow bridge. Cassandra tried to fall back, but the demons were circling her now. She was fenced in, Void take it all. Still, she narrowed her eyes, determined to break through.

Just then, one of the demons screamed in agony. It clawed at the arrow that had sunk into its single eye socket. A second arrow caught the thing in the throat, and the demon fell in a heap of smoking rags. In that moment, someone shouted at Cassandra from behind.

“Get down!”

Cassandra was not one for taking orders, and certainly not on the field of battle. Instead, she turned and glared at the person who’d dared to try and command her. Then her eyes widened in surprise.

“Robert!” she shouted. She didn’t even realize she’d remembered his name until it had left her lips.

“Duck, Cassandra!”

He had his bow at the ready, loaded with several arrows. As he drew the string to his cheek, Cassandra dropped to the ground. At the same moment, a volley went whistling over her head. The arrows skewered the remaining demons. The creatures stumbled back in a chorus of screams. Cassandra shot to her feet, her sword slicing them up in precise, swift strokes. The remaining demons fell.

Then, mercifully, there was silence. Cassandra heard her own breaths, ragged and short. Behind her, Robert breathed just as heavily.

“Are you alright?” He came striding up to her, bow in hand.

“Yes,” Cassandra said, curtly. In the greenish light, Robert looked different than before. It was strange to think that this was the same young man who had flirted with her just this afternoon. That seemed like it had happened a lifetime ago.

Robert yanked something out of his pocket and shoved it against Cassandra’s forehead. A moment later, she realized it was a handkerchief. The gesture struck her as quite bizarre. Her small injury hardly mattered, not when the entire sky was torn.

“Don’t,” Cassandra said, drawing away.

“But you’re bleeding,” Robert replied. Still, he led his hand drop. He looked down at his handkerchief then reached out and tucked it into her belt.

“Wha–?” Cassandra blinked at him.

“In case you need it later,” he explained. “So what now?” he said, nodding up the path. “We look for survivors, right?”

“I will look for survivors,” Cassandra told him. “You stay here. Make sure those things don’t reach the village.”

“To the Void with that,” Robert shot back. “I’m coming with you.”

“I move faster alone,” Cassandra told him. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that soldiers from Haven were now pouring out onto the bridge. They carried swords and torches. In the middle of this mob, she spied Commander Cullen.

“Secure the crossing,” she heard Cullen shout. “Keran, get your men ready to press forward to the next bridge. No,” he snapped, turning to someone behind him, “I will not charge blindly up the mountain into a bunch of demons. We’ll retake the path steadily, one choke point at a time.”

Cassandra’s jaw set. Cullen might be willing to move forward in waves, his soldiers slowly advancing up the hill, but she did not have time for that. She was not a foot soldier, but the bodyguard of the Divine. And right now, Justinia…

Oh Maker. She couldn’t even let herself finish that thought. She had to get to the temple as quickly as possible.

Without a word, Cassandra took off running. Robert gave a cry of alarm. She felt, rather than saw, his movement as he reached out after her. But Cassandra was already gone. She tore across the bridge, clambered up the pile of snow and rock that now blocked the path, and slid down the other side. She charged up the hill, the weird green light casting odd shadows on the path all around her.

Just then, another ball of green fire crashed into the path ahead. A moment later, another pair of demons slid down the hill toward her. Cassandra raised her shield and ran toward them, ramming into the first demon with as much speed as she could. She sliced its arm off, then turned to take on the second demon. But at that moment, a third creature rose right out of the ground behind her. Cassandra had one second to register its presence before an arrow pierced it. The thing screamed, then slithered back into the snow, leaving only an oily residue behind. Cassandra dispatched the other demons, then whirled back around. Behind her, lit by torchlight from the bridge, she saw Robert standing on the top of the rock slide.

“Go on!” he shouted, drawing another arrow from his quiver. “I’ll cover you.”

Cassandra nodded to him. In spite of everything - the situation, her fear for Justinia, even her duty - she felt her heart melt just a little. Then, the green pillar of light began to pulse in the sky. More meteors of fire rained down on the hills ahead. If she was not mistaken, that meant a whole host of demons now stood between her and the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

* * *

Leliana slashed her dagger across the demon’s throat. She did not flinch as pungent purple blood spattered her face. Instead, she turned, and in one swift movement, sheathed her dagger at her back and drew an arrow. She nocked it to her bow, then let it fly. The last of the wraiths fell with a scream, its glowing residue flickering out harmlessly onto the snow.

Leliana gave one small, short exhalation, trying to calm herself. Her heart beat furiously as she stood on this snowy ridge. Below her lay the Temple of Sacred Ashes - or rather, what was left of it.

Leliana stared in disbelief. The temple was completely destroyed. In her mind, she could still picture it. She remembered how it had looked when she and the Hero of Ferelden first walked to this place - before the banners and bridges and pilgrims and paved paths. She could still picture all the maps in her mind - maps that she had helped draw. She could imagine every mine, every passage and every approach. And yet, for all that, her memories were all that was left of the place.

One moment, there had been a holy site. Now, there was a mass grave. The summit looked as if someone had dropped a stone into a pool of tar, and the resulting splash had frozen in black rock. Leliana felt as though her insides were similarly altered. Her heart felt as destroyed as the temple, her mind a blank of roaring, screaming terror that echoed the cries of the demons she’d just fought.

The Conclave was gone. There was no way - no _possible_ way that Justina could have survived that.

_Justinia,_ Leliana thought, her steps growing faster and faster as she hurried down the hill. With Justinia gone, the Chantry had lost its leader. And Leliana had lost everything. The woman had been her mother, her mentor, her light in the shadows when there was no hope.

And yet, as one part of Leliana’s mind wailed in grief, the colder, harder part calculated what needed to be done next. There was little hope of finding Justinia’s remains. Indeed it seemed that all the delegates were to be forever enshrined in the ashes of the temple itself.

But there was still reason to search this space, Leliana thought. Though she could not bring Justinia back, she could still visit revenge upon the Divine’s killer. And there was no doubt in her mind that someone had murdered Justina. This could be no accident. Magic as strong as this did not come about by chance.

Leliana reached the temple a moment later. She climbed from a snowbank onto one of the blasted walls, then gazed down at the ruined courtyard. Pushing aside her grief, she tried to look at the remains of the building with an discerning eye. The blasted stone glowed green in places, then occasionally glowed red. In the shadows of encroaching night, Leliana saw creatures sliding around the empty space - demons, shades, wraiths - the bottom-dwellers of the Fade.

Leliana sat quietly on the wall, considering her options. But before she could think what to do next, she saw another movement. A figure charged into the courtyard, snarling in an oddly familiar way. Leliana knew who it was at once. Cassandra Pentaghast threw herself against the mass of demons, her sword and shield flashing in dim light.

Well then, Leliana thought. It seemed that both the Left and Right Hands had rushed here to serve the Divine. And it seemed that they had both arrived too late. As much as Leliana would like to savor the bitter irony, it was time to join Cassandra in this fight.

Leliana quickly fitted an arrow to her bow and started firing off shots. Cassandra did not look up, not even when one of Leliana’s arrows went whistling right by her ear. Clearly, Leliana thought, the woman was in too rare a fury to care.

Within a minute or two, the demons in the courtyard were dead. Cassandra charged on toward the center of the temple, apparently not caring how many demons might lurk in the great pit there.

“Cassandra, wait!” Leliana cried.

Cassandra stopped, turning around in surprise.

“Leliana?”

Leliana dropped down from the wall, then stalked forward gracefully. The Seeker stomped across the empty space to meet her.

“What are you doing here? I thought…” Cassandra frowned over her shoulder into the darkness. “Where’s Robert?”

“Who is Robert?” Leliana asked.

Cassandra frowned. “I must have lost him. I hope he…” She shook her head, then pointed to the temple.

“I can’t consider that. We must find Justinia.”

“She’s dead,” Leliana said, her voice flat. Still, her heart ached to speak the words aloud.

“She might be…” Cassandra began.

“She’s _dead_ , Cassandra,” Leliana said. As if to emphasize this, the green pillar pulsed, its light flickering weirdly over their faces.

“You’re a Seeker,” Leliana said, more softly. “You can sense the lyrium in a person’s veins. You can sense their life-blood. Surely you know that we are the only living people in this place.”

Cassandra said nothing, but from the despair that filled her eyes, Leliana knew her words had rung true.

“Then…” Cassandra said, slowly. “Then we must stop that breach in the sky.” Each word sounded like it was dragged from her. “It is raining demons on the valley.” She took a breath, then added, “I believe it opens to the Fade. That is what it feels like: a door into the world of demons.”

“Maker save us,” Leliana murmured, though that assessment echoed what she had suspected as well.

“May He save us all,” Cassandra murmured.

“We must protect Haven,” Leliana said, decisively. “It is what Justinia would have wanted.”

“Cullen is protecting Haven,” Cassandra said, waving a hand at the direction she had come from. “He and his soldiers are securing the path as we speak.”

“Then we must carry out Justinia’s wishes.” Leliana said, looking to Cassandra.

“Those wishes died with her!” Cassandra cried. “The Conclave, the clerics, everyone who might have brought peace - they were all _here_.”

“The Chantry is more than its leaders,” Leliana replied.

“It is no less than its leaders, either,” Cassandra shot back. “Our religion has no head now, Leliana. We have no heart, either. You and I are hands with no body.”

“You really must work on your metaphors, Cassandra,” Leliana said, dryly.

“I am not joking!” Cassandra snapped.

“Neither am I,” Leliana replied. “We are hands, so we must protect and shield. We will fall back, we will regroup, and we will do as Justinia wished, but first…”

At that moment, the breach began to flicker, and Leliana looked up at it with narrowed eyes.

“First?” Cassandra prompted.

“First,” Leliana said, as she drew an arrow to her bow, “We must survive this night.”

Beside her, Cassandra nodded grimly, and readied her bloodied sword.

* * *

The Void take athletic women, Robert thought in annoyance. And why in the Void had he assumed that he could keep up with a Seeker?

Robert might have longer legs, but clearly his training left something to be desired. Whatever that woman did to keep herself battle-ready, it was impressive. Cassandra had charged up a snowy hill, stopping only to mow down demons in her path. Robert had helped her with the first few, but then he’d fallen behind.

He’d had to fight through a few demons on his own - _that_ had been a dicey prospect, what with the ice and the steep cliffs and him with a bow. He really hated fighting at close quarters. Fighting in the dark and against screaming demons was even worse. Then Robert had come around a corner and found that the next bridge in the path had been blasted right down the middle. Cassandra was nowhere in sight.

Blight it all, Robert thought, spinning in place. What was he supposed to do now? Down the valley, he saw torches, like so many glowing ants. The lights steadily swarmed up the hill, keeping to the known paths.

Well, he wasn’t about to join that lot, Robert thought. Let someone else worry about barricades and bridges. Robert was more concerned with survivors. If Kate had died in that blast…

No, Robert thought, turning to look back up at the torn sky. He had to believe that she was still alive. She couldn’t have been at the center of that explosion. He wouldn’t believe that she was. Surely she had wandered out into the snow to look at the view. That’s what Kate would have done. And so she was probably out here, fighting demons like the clever little mage that she was. All Robert had to do was find her. Then they’d head down to the tavern, warm up with a pint and some meat pies, have a laugh, and let someone else sort out this mess.

Alright, so that plan had some problems. For one thing, Robert didn’t know if Kate knew how to fight. He had only ever seen her do parlor tricks at family salons. But no, surely she could turn that ice magic of hers to good use. She was in the snow, right? Surely that would help. He hoped it would help. He hoped she could survive this.

_Please, Maker, let Katie survive this._

Robert glared at the broken bridge before him, as if its damage was a personal affront. Then he took off down the path to the left. There was a little courtyard here, a guardhouse, and a gate. The space was empty, the far gate closed. Robert hurried to the gate, and to his relief, he found that it was open. He pushed through the heavy door, then let it slam behind him. In the dim light from the breach, Robert found himself on a snowy path.

He also found he was no longer alone.

There, at a short distance, stood a few men in armor. It was hard to see them in gathering gloom. That was surely why his eyes were playing tricks on him. Because for a moment, Robert thought that one of the men had glowing red veins along his skin. And it almost looked like that other one was pointing a blade in Robert’s direction.

Before Robert could react to that, one of the men turned to him. Out of the darkness, Robert heard a familiar voice.

“Don’t worry. He’s one of us.”

“Freddy?” Robert breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the Maker. If you survived… Oh, sweet Andraste, have you seen Kate? I was on my way up to the temple, but I lost my escort, as it were.”

As he spoke, Robert enthusiastically rushed forward, not stopping to notice the way Freddy’s posture remained rigid, nor the way that his armored companions circled in around Robert. In fact, Robert didn’t realize what was going on until Freddy turned lazily and stared at him.

Robert staggered to a stop.

Freddy had red eyes. And they were glowing. In the dark. That…wasn’t right. Demons and a hole in the sky weren’t right, either. But this - this _really_ wasn’t right.

“Freddy?” In that moment, Robert was startled stupid, completely unable to think.

“Hullo, Trevelyan,” Freddy replied, softly. “Will you be joining us now?”

“Uh, nooo,” Robert said, slowly, backing away. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude and run off on you, but I really need to find Kate…”

“Kate’s dead,” Freddy said, his voice little more than a whisper. “They’re all dead.”

“You can’t know that,” Robert said, even as he feared it might be true. “Someone might have made it out. _You_ did, right?”

“We weren’t in the temple,” Freddy said. “We were here, watching. And we saw how it will be.” Freddy turned to Robert with a weird sort of smile. “His power is great. The Lord Seeker will be pleased.”

Robert had no idea what that meant, nor did he have time to ask. Someone grabbed Robert’s throat from behind. Robert tried to pull away, but someone pinned his arms. Robert couldn’t move. He had no idea who this person was behind him, but the fellow was surely as strong as a wyvern.

“What in the Void?” Robert managed, before the hand at his throat began to squeeze.

“Oh, don’t worry, Trevelyan,” Freddy said, stalking over to Robert and looking up into his face. “After all, templars take care of their own.”

The world dimmed, and the last things Robert saw were Freddy’s glowing red eyes, and the torn sky behind him. Then night fell on his vision, and everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dang, looks like I need to leave a note on this ending:
> 
> [Don' worry!](http://tumblr.sagefic.com/post/117717015179/please-dont-freak-out/) I really can't say more without spoilering mah plotsing. I'll just say that some people always manage to find a way through. And to quote the Princess Bride, "nothing can stop true love." and "Twoooh Laaahve." Just, bear with me. ;)


	11. Survivor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate forgets and Cullen gives in to temptation

Kate felt like the top of her head was being ripped away. She would have suspected all her hair was being torn out, only the sensation went deeper than the scalp. It was as if something had gotten its claws into her mind and was pulling her thoughts out by the roots. Even as she ran, even as her arms pumped the air and her boots scrambled for purchase on the slippery stones underfoot, she could not seem to outrun the sensation that her brain was under attack.

What _was_ this, Kate wondered? Each breath hurt, as if the air was too thick for her throat, yet too thin to fill her lungs. And still she ran on, desperate to escape. There seemed to be no end to the maze of rock and pools of water. Everything here felt inverted, like the knotted, trailing threads on the back of a tapestry. Kate wondered if the world would ever again feel solid and smooth.

Kate slipped and stumbled to her knees. She was so weary that she had half a mind to stop, to allow herself to be consumed by the thing that pursued her. But when she looked back over her shoulder…

Kate swallowed, then instantly shot forward. The thing behind her was nightmarish, and she desperately ran on through two narrow pillars of stone. A great slope appeared before her, and Kate ran for it. She hurried up the steps, then slowed as the incline grew ever steeper. Soon it seemed that she was climbing straight up, and when she looked back over her shoulder…

It was a demon, surely. Or maybe it was a demon _made_ of demons. But even as Kate spied a claw here, a tentacle there, she couldn’t quite _see_ the thing properly. Other visions flitted across her mind, visions that felt like they were being ripped right out of her memory. She saw a door blasting open, saw a grasping hand and tendrils of magic. Kate remembered a glowing ball that looked like a miniature star, and then Kate saw red eyes that were filled with nothing but pain and disappointment and hate.

In the vision, those burning eyes promised vengeance. And Kate’s entire body seemed to freeze in response. It was as if one of the demon’s tentacles had finally wound its way into her mind and was drawing her back into the abyss. Kate’s fingers loosened and she let go of the ledge.

Just before she fell, a glowing figure reached out and caught her. The shining fingers gripped Kate’s left hand. The sudden jolt of pain in her palm broke through the numbness that had threatened to claim her. At the same moment, light shot from her fingers and the darkness ripped open, revealing dawn sky and ebony stone. This, Kate realized, was her way out.

Bright arms shoved her toward the tear. The world grew more solid around her, and just as the massive shadow reached for her, Kate threw herself into the gap.

There was a moment when Kate hung in the in-between. She was on both sides of the tapestry at once: both in and out, both real and dream. Her body felt torn between the two, her mind screamed as the demon raked its claws through her memories one last time. Kate felt her heart slam in her chest, felt as though her lungs were collapsing.

But then, as she fell forward into the real world once more, she heard a voice whisper from out of dreams:

“Have hope, child.”

Kate fell to her knees.

She now found herself surrounded by blasted stone and ash. People moved in the distance - they had swords and they came toward her. Kate tried to back away, but she found she could not move. Her body felt too heavy, and the air felt too cold. As she knelt there, one more memory slipped from Kate’s mind. She could no longer recall where she’d just been. Her mind felt as empty as an overturned bowl. Fear remained, but not the reasons for that fear.

That frightened Kate even more. Panic clawed at her body from the inside out, and Kate could think of nothing to calm herself. She had heard people speak facetiously of being scared to death. Right now, that seemed a very real possibility.

As her gaze went unfocused, Kate stared up into the sky. The dome was a pale blue as the dawn crept in, and Kate’s eyes fell on a single star, winking at the edge of the horizon. Her vision seemed to tunnel in until only that star remained. There had been another light, Kate thought, desperately. That light had looked like a woman, and she had reached out to Kate. She had said something, too. She had given Kate a weapon to fight back the against the darkness.

Only now Kate could not remember what it was. Fear and exhaustion claimed her, and the star disappeared from her sight.

* * *

Cullen had been just as shocked and horrified as everyone else when the Conclave had exploded. But he knew he could not allow his fear to show. His soldiers needed to see that their leaders were united and courageous. Kirkwall had taught him that much. And since Leliana and Cassandra had not yet moved beyond their bickering to a plan, Cullen was moving forward on his own as best he could. Having secured the Pilgrim’s Path, he and his men were attempting to reclaim the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Thus far, it was a losing venture.

The good news was that the demons from the rifts were mostly wraiths and shades. They were easy enough to kill, if one had a good sword arm and approached them cautiously. The bad news was that they appeared to be endless.

Cullen slashed at the wraith before him. The creature screamed at him with an amorphous mouth, then lashed out with a spindly arm. Cullen dodged the attack, then followed through with a swing that cleaved the wraith in two. A demon to Cullen’s left charged just then. Cullen blocked it with his shield, then carved it up with two swift strokes to its torso. The creature fell apart in a puff of ash, and that was the last of this lot.

Cullen straightened, taking a moment to breathe. A short distance away, he saw Morris. The man was standing in a pile of gore and rags, looking around for another demon to demolish with his greatsword.

Behold the prodigy that was Morris, Cullen thought wryly. The man was a bit off, but there was no one with a more single-minded focus for fighting. Truth be told, Cullen had often wondered if the one was the cause of the other. Either way, Morris had single-handedly killed as many demons as the rest of the recruits. It was moments like this that Cullen remembered why he put up with the man.

Morris shouldered his sword and wandered over to Cullen. He didn’t look tired, in spite of having fought demons all night long. If anything, he looked a bit bored.

“That’s the last of them, ser,” Morris said.

“For now,” Cullen replied.

As he spoke, Cullen looked around to assess the damage. It appeared that all his soldiers were still standing. But at this rate, Cullen _would_ lose his people to exhaustion soon enough. They needed to set up a rotation for getting some sleep, and soon. Leliana might want to investigate the temple, but clearly that would have to wait. Cullen and his men could not very well search for answers in the rubble when they were being attacked by demons every few minutes.

As if there was anything here to find, Cullen thought with a snort. This pit was full of nothing but dust and debris and weirdly glowing stones. There was nothing here worth salvaging. The blast had scoured absolutely everything.

It was definitely time for a retreat, Cullen thought. This was pointless, and he wasn’t about to lose more men just because Leliana wanted to poke around in the ashes. They needed to give the soldiers a rest first. She could look for answers later.

But before he could call a retreat, the breach crackled again. The green pillar of light shivered, and Cullen bit back a curse.

 _Not again_ , he thought. They’d just finished with two waves of demons. He turned just in time to see the rift at the base of the breach sputter and split open. The men down on the temple floor shouted in alarm, backing away.

And then, so quickly that Cullen almost missed it, something fell out of the rift.

A hand appeared in the air, followed by an arm, a shoulder, then a flash of orange and suddenly an entire body came tumbling out onto the temple floor. It landed in an ash-colored heap on the ground and the rift above snapped shut. The breach fell still, and the entire temple was now quiet.

Cullen stared for just a moment, expecting the rift to open again, expecting the lump of rags to rise up with a roar and take on the form of a demon. But neither of those things happened. There was just silence. The soldiers slowly circled around the body, their swords at the ready.

“Hold!” Cullen shouted to them.

He ran to the nearby slope of rubble that he and the men had been using as a ramp down into the pit. Cullen scrambled down the incline, landed in a stutter-step at the bottom, recovered himself and hurried forward into the temple. Sword and shield still in hand, he waved his men back, and stepped closer to whatever it was that had just fallen out of the breach. In the shadows cast by the pre-dawn light, the thing appeared to be a lumpy green blanket.

Yet even _that_ was alarming, Cullen thought. Everything else in this place was burned and blasted and blackened. This clump of cloth and metal appeared as out of place as a puddle in a desert.

“Did you see it, ser?” one of the soldiers asked Cullen. “It just fell out of the breach.”

“I saw it,” Cullen replied, warily. “Did any demons appear?”

”‘This one ain’t a demon,” another soldier put in. This fellow dragged his sword along the ground, and Cullen glared at him for being so careless. “This one’s a boy. And there was somethin’ in the rift behind him. Looked like a woman.”

“A woman?” Cullen asked. That seemed unlikely. A desire demon, no doubt. Cullen shuddered at the thought.

“I saw her, too,” the first soldier put in, hesitantly. “She was all glowing and…”

“Shapely-like,” dragging-sword interrupted.

Yes, definitely a desire demon, Cullen thought.

“Shapely?” one of the other soldier said, looking appalled.

“Yeah, you know,” dragging-sword said. “All…” He made a curving motion with his free hand. Cullen rolled his eyes.

“She looked like an grand cleric, yeh sick sod,” another soldier put in. “Had a miter on, like the priestesses wore.”

“Like Andraste wore,” the first soldier added, reverently.

Or maybe it _wasn’t_ a desire demon, Cullen thought. It would be hard to mistake a desire demon for the Bride of the Maker. The nipple chains rather gave them away.

“So there was a woman in the breach and now we have a boy here,” Cullen said, trying to return them to the point at hand.

“Yes, ser,” the first soldier nodded. “Dunno how anyone could have survived being in _there_. That’s all demons, it is.”

“Indeed,” Cullen muttered, darkly.

He glanced up at the rift above. It pulsed green, and through it, Cullen spied the broken statue of Andraste - the only part of the temple not entirely destroyed. Her shattered stone body pointed to the sky, and her head floated in the air, gazing down at Cullen with blank stone eyes.

Cullen’s mouth set in a grim line. This was a new twist to an endless nightmare. And like all unexpected magical occurrences, Cullen didn’t like it at all. He waved his sword at the men and raised his shield.

“Get back, all of you,” Cullen commanded. His voice was hard as flint, and the men obeyed at once. Well, all except dragging-sword.

“It’s just one skinny boy,” the man muttered, rolling his eyes.

Cullen spared the fellow a withering glance.

“It fell out of the _Fade_ ,” Cullen said, his voice cold as stone. “Maker only knows what this is.”

“Oh,” the man mumbled. “Right.” He finally raised his sword.

Cautiously, Cullen took a step forward. The body looked like a pile of rags, propped up in a vaguely human shape. It could also be an elf, Cullen supposed. Or might be a spindly abomination ready to tear into all of them. But rather than terrify his men with that thought, Cullen motioned for reinforcements.

“Archers at the ready,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Morris?”

“Here, ser,” the man replied, taking a step forward. Cullen gave Morris a short nod. Though Morris currently looked a bit distracted, Cullen trusted that Morris’ instincts would take over if the rags suddenly jumped up and attacked. Cullen cautiously approached the body, his sword and shield at guard.

Cullen set up a mental guard as well. He and his men had been tripping over corpses at every turn. If this was a survivor - though Maker only knew how _that_ was possible - then he was probably marred beyond all recognition. And if this was something else - some trick of the Fade - it might look even more terrifying. Either way, Cullen figured, this was going to be a grisly sight.

Cullen reached the body, then raised his foot and kicked it over with his heel. The pile of rags tumbled over, taking on a human shape as it fell. A long arm flopped out, palm down on the stones, and a sleeping face turned toward Cullen, framed by a halo of red-gold hair.

Cullen’s lips parted slightly.

This was…

This was not what he had expected. And he wasn’t certain if that was a good thing, or if it was infinitely worse.

“That ain’t a boy,” one of the soldiers murmured. “That’s a woman, sure.”

“Well her hair was so short,” dragging-sword grumbled. “Didn’t see it for more than a second.”

“Is she a mage or a templar?” one of the other soldiers asked. “She ain’t a grand cleric, that’s for sure.”

“Enough,” Cullen snapped, cutting them off. There was silence for a moment, and then Morris loudly announced:

“She’s a mage.”

Everyone turned around and stared at him, even Cullen. Morris just shrugged.

“Well she is,” he said. “See all that ginger hair?”

Cullen’s did his best to suppress an irritated groan. “Her hair color does _not_ make her a mage, Morris.”

“It’s not just her hair, ser,” Morris said. “It’s the magic on her. Can’t you feel it?”

Cullen frowned. No, he could not sense any magic on the woman. And so far as he knew, neither could Morris. The man hadn’t known that Hawke was a mage, for Andraste’s sake. Some templars - and some Seekers - had that gift, but Cullen did not. Like most templars, he relied on observation to root out apostates. And right now, as he studied the survivor, he couldn’t tell _what_ she was.

Her gear was like that of a traveler or a mercenary, but she appeared unarmed: no sword, no bow, no staff, not even a dagger. In fact, she appeared a stranger to travel or battle. She had a - Cullen wanted to call it a ‘soft’ sort of look. Though she was dusty, she was well-groomed. On the whole, she brought to Cullen’s mind the old Ferelden fairytale: the one where a princess went off to fight a sorcerer, then got enchanted and slept for a thousand years.

Of course, Cullen thought, this princess looked as if her sleep was less than restful. As he took a step closer, he could now see that sweat trickled down the sides of her face and the hair at her brow was plastered to her forehead. She frowned, twitching in sleep, and her eyes flickered behind her lids as if she were watching a nightmare. Added to that, her breaths were shallow, and her hand kept opening and closing, clawing at the stones.

And for just a moment, in spite of the danger, in spite of the strange circumstances, in spite of his cautious nature, Cullen felt a flicker of sympathy for the woman. He had spent enough time trapped inside of nightmares to recognize what they looked like from the outside. She was clearly suffering, and he had half a mind to try and gently wake her. But then another thought intruded, a warning from years ago:

 _Do not be fooled by a sweet face,_ Knight-Commander Meredith had once told him. _The more you are tempted to trust magic and those who use it, the more you must resist the lure. A demon always lurks nearby. Remember that._

Ironic advice, Cullen thought. In the end, Meredith herself had fallen to the demons of paranoia and rage. And while the former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall could not remotely be described as ‘sweet’, she had been charismatic enough to deceive Cullen and so many others.

“You there,” Cullen said, pointing at a wiry-looking soldier. “Hurry back to the forward camp. There’s a big fellow there. Double the size of you. Get him up here at once. We need him to carry this woman down to Haven.”

“You mean Brooke, ser?” the woman replied.

“More like a river,” Cullen muttered to himself. “Yes, Brooke. That’s the one. Get him up here at once. Tell them to send word ahead to the Haven. We need a healer for this woman.”

“Yes, ser,” the woman replied. “Brooke and healers, ser.” With that, she saluted and hurried off. Cullen thought for a moment, then shouted after her:

“And bring shackles!” he yelled. “Or rope!”

“Yes, ser!” the woman shouted back. She ran up a nearby slope, headed for the temple doors.

“Rope, ser?” one of the other soldiers asked, worriedly. “You think she’s dangerous?”

“She _is_ a mage,” Morris pointed out.

“It’s nothing to do with mages,” Cullen replied, half to himself. “I assume everyone is dangerous.” Cullen then frowned, for he had not meant to say that aloud.

Just then, the breach above began to crackle and shift. The air suddenly felt charged both with magic, and with the sudden tension that came from knowing that another attack was imminent.

 _Void take it,_ Cullen thought. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten so distracted by this survivor that he’d let his guard down. His men were too close to the breach, not at all in ideal fighting formation. Scowling, Cullen shouted orders as quickly as he could:

“Swordsmen, create a barrier. Archers, back to your vantage points. Morris, help me defend her.” He nodded down at the body.

“Right,” Morris said. He wandered toward Cullen as casually as if he were on his way to dinner. But before Cullen and Morris could take up a defensive position, something very odd happened.

The rift flared and shifted. It was a familiar sight, for it had been doing that all night. And every time before this, that was the bubble before the dam burst, the warning before demons came pouring into the world.

But _this_ time, when the rift expanded, something answered it. The survivor’s left hand shot up as if someone had yanked her wrist into the air. A bolt of electricity fired from her palm to the rift above. Green lightning flickered from the rift to the hand and back. The woman’s body bowed with pain and she screamed aloud.

Cullen stepped forward in alarm, but then he froze, unsure how to help. The woman’s cry was drowned out by the answering crackle from the rift. Then the rift seemed to snap down upon itself. It formed a crystalline mass in the air, pulsed once, and then fell still. Instead of a horde of demons appearing in the temple, there was now an eerie silence.

Cullen looked around in surprise. His soldiers stood near, their weapons at guard. They, too, looked similarly astonished.

Cullen looked back to the survivor, not quite sure if what he’d seen had actually happened. It had all flashed by so quickly, he now felt as though he’d missed it. But no, the woman’s left hand was now facing up, and over her palm danced a brilliant green light.

What in the Void had just happened, Cullen wondered? Had this woman just reached into the rift somehow? And if so, what did that mean? Mostly likely, Cullen thought, bitterly, it meant she was the one who created the damned thing. And yet, as her eyes flickered and her head rolled to one side, Cullen could not help but feel concern for her. After all, who in the Void would inflict a spell like that upon themselves? What kind of abomination would allow it’s host body to take that much damage?

For as Cullen drew near to the body, he now saw that the woman’s breathing had grown shallower, her skin even more clammy and pale. Upon that open hand, the light flickered away, revealing a hideous burn. The skin had broken open in a long slash that looked vaguely like a mouth, and a thin line of crimson trickled along one slim finger. As Cullen watched, a single drop of blood dropped from the woman’s neat fingernail and into the ash of the temple floor.

“Maker,” he murmured.

Then, with a scowl, Cullen momentarily gave in to temptation. Or he gave in to compassion - he wasn’t sure which. At the moment, they felt an awful lot alike.

Cullen set down his shield and sliced into the skirt of his tunic with his sword. He ripped off a swath of fabric, rolled it into a makeshift bandage and knelt by the woman’s side. He carefully bound the woman’s hand, all the while sneaking glances at her face to make sure she wasn’t about to attack him. His task done, Cullen tucked the ruined end of his shirt back into his belt. So much for the fancy sunburst on his clothes, he thought. Well, at least he would be able to move more easily without something around his knees to trip him up.

That task done, Cullen retrieved shield and stood. He then realized that all of his men were watching him very closely.

“Can’t leave a body bleeding this close to a rift,” he said, gruffly, jerking his chin at the survivor. “That’s just asking the demons to try and cross over.”

The soldiers accepted this explanation without question, nodding their heads knowingly. Well, all except Morris, who was tracing designs in the ash at his feet with the tip of his greatsword.

Just then, Cullen spotted Brooke and the female soldier approaching. Cullen let out a short sigh of relief.

“There you are,” he said to them both. “Get this woman down to Cassandra at once.”

“Yes, ser,” the woman said. “And we sent word ahead for the healers, ser.”

“Good,” Cullen nodded. He then frowned as the woman walked up to him and held out a pair of shackles.

“Get on with it,” he said, nodding at the survivor.

“Oh,” the woman said, nervously. “Well, I was hoping you - er, someone else, rather, would, uh…” She glanced at the fallen body and then back at Cullen. He just raised a brow at her.

“I don’t want to touch it,” the woman said in a half-whisper. “They’re already talking about how that’s the one what did it.”

Of course they were, Cullen thought, rolling his eyes. The soldiers were terrible gossips. At this rate, the tale would be in Haven before the survivor was. The woman would be condemned before she even woke.

“Oh for Andraste’s sake,” he grumbled.

Cullen snatched the shackles out of the woman’s hands with a withering glare, then strode over to the survivor. He felt a bit like a bully as he knelt and rolled the woman onto her stomach and drew her hands behind her back. From here, he could see the pulse in her neck was hammering, as though her heart was racing. At this rate, Cullen thought, she might not last the day.

He forced himself not to worry about that as he bound her hands, but when he waved Brooke over, he told the man:

“Be gentle with her. Once that woman wakes up, she may be able to give us a better picture of what happened here.”

 _If_ she wakes up, he added, to himself. He did not like that ‘if’ at all. They needed answers, and this wounded woman - this potentially dangerous, potentially murderous woman - was their only lead. Cullen allowed himself one last glance at the survivor’s pale face, then helped Brooke haul her up. Hanging over the big man’s shoulder like that, she looked like a pile of rags again. Cullen frowned at that, then grabbed the hood of the woman’s jacket and pulled it over her head, shielding her face and covering her red hair.

“Keep this quiet if you can,” he told the woman soldier. “And you two,” he added, waving to two of the other men, “go with them. We need this woman alive. Take her to Haven, and protect her if you must. Hurry now.”

The soldiers saluted. Brooke started off with surprising speed for such a large man. On his shoulder, the prisoner looked very thin in comparison.

Cullen watched them for a moment, then shook himself and waved at his men.

“Fall back,” he said. “We need to get to the forward camp and set up a rotation schedule. You all need some sleep.”

The men actually smiled at this, the first such expression Cullen had seen on their faces since the explosion.

“And you!” Cullen shouted at dragging-sword as they started to walk away. “Keep your sword up. You’re dulling the edge.”

“Yes, ser,” the man replied, sheepishly, but he still seemed pleased by the idea of getting out of the pit. Cullen looked around, then began to follow his men. Morris fell into step beside him.

“But we need her to close the other rifts,” Morris said, as if suddenly noticing the absence of the survivor.

Cullen did a double-take. “Close the rifts?” he repeated. “What are you talking about?”

“She kept more demons from coming out of the rift,” Morris said. He almost sounded disappointed by the fact.

“I don’t think that was her doing,” Cullen said, doubtfully. “More likely the rift was doing something odd. Besides,” he added, “if you want to fight demons, I’m sure we’ll be facing more of them soon enough.”

“But if the mage didn’t close the rift, then what happened to her hand?” Morris asked.

“No idea,” Cullen admitted. “Hopefully she can give us the answer to that.”

“She might only give you more questions,” Morris observed.

Cullen frowned. That almost sounded profound. And if Morris was beginning to sound insightful, then clearly Cullen needed some sleep.

“I hope she didn’t do it,” Morris added as they reached the slope leading up to the temple doors.

“What we hope is hardly relevant,” Cullen replied, as they began to climb. But Cullen also hoped that the woman hadn’t done this. For one thing, Cullen didn’t like the idea that his momentary act of compassion had been directed at the Divine’s murderer.

“She’s pretty for a mage though, don’t you think?” Morris said, waving up at the temple doors. Just then, Brooke was carrying the mage away, and she looked like the proverbial sack of potatoes slung over his shoulder.

“No,” Cullen said. His lips thinned, and he leveled a cutting gaze in Morris’ direction.

“No she’s not pretty, or no she’s not a mage?” Morris wanted to know.

“No,” Cullen answered, and he left it at that.


	12. Wards and Elfroot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Coll plays it cool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this is not NSFW, it does contain more swearing than usual. Because it's Coll.

“Mythal feck the feckers who did this,” Coll grumbled.

She held out her hands and healing magic radiated from her palms. Before her, a young man lay on a rumpled bedroll on the floor of the apothecary’s hut. He stared at her with wide frightened eyes. Coll wasn’t certain if his expression was directed at the stark tattoos on her face, at the magic on her hands, or at the fury that radiated off of her. Or maybe, she thought, the boy was terrified because he knew the moment his wounds closed, he’d be sent out to fight the demons again.

Well, good luck to the lad and all, but Coll had neither the time nor the inclination to comfort him. He might be dead before the day’s end, he might not. With so much death already, Coll didn’t want to worry about this stranger, not when Kate…

Coll felt a hysterical sob rise in her throat, and she shoved it back down with a fresh blaze of anger. Anger was a _much_ better sensation than hurt or despair. Fury was fuel that could drive a small, slow fire for years. Coll had nearly forgotten that truth during her time in the Circle, but with all this madness going on around her, she remembered it once again. She’d gotten angry, and she’d gotten moving. Coll couldn’t stop and think about how she’d lost Kate. She couldn’t stop and think about how Robert and Lysette had run off in the initial attack. Coll couldn’t worry about their safety when the was so much healing to be done.

No, Coll thought. It was always better to get angry than to fret.

What _really_ stoked Coll’s ire, however, was that she was stuck down here. She would like to vent her fury at the demons, fry ‘em up and stick them with roots and branches. But that dumb maggot of a commander - the blond, stuffy human male - had ordered that all mages stay as far from the breach as possible. Not that there were a lot of mages left in Haven, Coll thought, gritting her teeth. All the really talented ones had been up in the Conclave. The mages like Kate…

She sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. Anyhow, the good mages - all but Coll, of course - had been in the explosion. The few mages left were all shite at everything. There were a few apprentices, and a couple old fellows. They couldn’t even summon fire from inside a blazing oven. That scary woman in the chain mail hood had tasked a few of the clods with going out to ‘close the rifts’ - whatever the shite _that_ meant. The survivors of that little adventure had come back an hour later, with a wild tale to tell of two possessions, an abomination attack, and how all the other mages pissed themselves and ran away.

Coll rolled her eyes. Circle mages were a strange lot. A few of them were lovely. The rest were soft and stupid. And now, those stupid ones were wandering around the apothecary’s hut, trying to be useful, and mostly just getting in the way of everything.

“No!” Coll snapped as some old, bald fellow picked up a vial of liquid from the nearby table. “Yeh dumb clod, that’s got blood lotus in it, not dawn lotus. You want to poison these people?”

“Uhh…” the fellow started, evidently not used to a Dalish snapping at his distinguished human self.

“Take _that_ bottle and get the feck out of the hut,” Coll said. She turned her attention back to her patient, then placed her hands over his side. The man opened his mouth and flinched, but Coll did not even touch him. Instead, her thin brows furrowed as she held her glowing palms over his wound. The open slice in his skin began to close, as if Coll was stitching it up with invisible thread. A moment later, nothing but a ragged scar remained. The boy looked down at his side with wide eyes.

“Th-thank you,” he stammered. He looked up at Coll with a worshipful expression. Coll cringed in reply. She absolutely hated this part.

“Eh,” she grumbled. “It’s a hack job, sure. Don’t have time to fix yeh up pretty. But” she added, when the boy’s face fell, “the girls all love a man with scars, so there yeh are. Yeh live through this, they’ll all want to see it. There’s something to fight for, yeah?”

“Yeah,” the lad said, sitting up gingerly. He gazed at her reverently, and seemed to consider saying something more. Coll studiously avoided his gaze, hoping he would not speak. She had never known what to do with adulation, especially when it came from humans.

“Get on with yeh,” she said, waving a hand in the direction of the door. “Try not to get killed.”

The boy hesitated, then finally rose and went away. Coll sighed and ran a hand over her braids. At the same moment, someone in the back of the cabin started chuckling.

“Not used to this, are you?”

Coll looked up to see the local potions master, Adan, was chopping up some elfroot at the table. Over the course of the previous night, Coll had decided that Adan was the ugliest, grouchiest son-of-a-bitch that she had ever met. Naturally, Coll respected him already.

“I can heal,” Coll told him, “Just not used to the rest of it.”

“What, the demons?” Adan asked.

“I was in a Circle,” Coll said, giving him a withering glare. “I did my share of patching up templars what got mauled at Harrowings.”

“Huh,” Adan said, slanting a glance at her. “Guess you would.”

“It’s just that this won’t end,” Coll said, rubbing her fingers over her eyes.

“Yeah,” Adan said. “I’m not used to that either. You’ve got a break for now, though. Get some sleep.”

“Each time one of us sleeps, a pack of half-dead soldiers show up,” Coll returned. She sat back against the wall of the cabin, and stretched her legs out before her. “Not goin’ to tempt fate again.”

She leaned her head back against the wall, and briefly closed her eyes. No sooner had Coll done that when she heard footsteps crunching the snow. Coll turned just in time to see the bar owner, Flissa, come dashing up to the door. Her cheeks were flushed, her red hair bouncing about her shoulders.

It was surely a testament to how exhausted Coll was that she simply couldn’t care. Or, Coll reflected, it was like that human saying that familiarity breeds contempt. Last night, Coll had admired this barmaid’s curves. Then the Conclave had exploded, and in response, Flissa had done nothing but panic, worry, and yammer on with unwelcome gossip. And if there was one thing Coll could not abide, it was flighty behavior. Actually, there were many things Coll could not abide in people. It was a curse, surely. Coll found plenty of men and women mightily attractive when she didn’t actually know them. But the moment she spoke to them, she generally lost any inclination to bed them. Flissa would be another such case.

Not that any of this mattered right now, Coll thought. Judging by the expression on Flissa’s face, they surely had another disaster on their hands.

“You’ll never guess what happened!” Flissa shouted into the hut. Coll winced at the volume. Adan, for his part, did not even turn around, but continued to chop up elfroot and dump it into a nearby bowl.

“Ah, the sky ripped open and demons poured out?” Coll asked, sarcastically. Flissa just blinked.

“Well, yes…” she said. “But I meant just now…”

“We’ve got a bunch of wounded soldiers on their way down here and we’re to fix ‘em up?” Adan suggested with a sigh.

“No!” Flissa nearly shouted in her excitement. “They found the one who did it!”

This announcement was met with silence. Adan turned around, a dirty clump of elfroot still in hand. Coll just stared up at the barmaid.

“What do you mean, the one what did it?” Coll asked.

“The one who put the hole in the sky!” Flissa shouted. “It’s a woman, they said, and…” She looked over her shoulder, then, in the loudest fake-whisper Coll had ever heard, added:

“She’s a mage.”

“Ah feck me,” Coll groaned, laying her head back against the cabin wall. “Isn’t it _always_ a mage?”

“So says the mage.” Adan quipped.

“You’re a mage?” Flissa stared at Coll with wide eyes.

“Yer just now figurin’ this out?” Coll asked the woman. To Adan, Coll added:

“Yeah, I’m a mage. But I ain’t the kind that goes off lookin’ to blow shite up. Just want a nice warm chair and some books to read. But do I get that? Oh no. Feckin’ humans with their feckin’ wars. I’m up to me feckin’ elbows in humans.”

“Well, whoever she is, she won’t last long,” Adan grumbled. He finished chopping up the elfroot and dunked it into a nearby pot of water. “If she killed the Divine, she’ll be hung by nightfall, mark my words.”

“But they’re not going to kill her,” Flissa said, shaking her head. “Not right away. They have to question her first.”

So it was to be torture then, Coll thought. She approved of that. If this woman was the one responsible for killing Kate, well, Coll would be happy to give the interrogator some suggestions even.

“So who is this murderous mage?” Coll asked. “Some crazy First Enchanter what had a pole up her arse?”

“No one knows who she is!” Flissa said, breathlessly. “Took her straight to the Chantry, they did. Her face was hidden, but I heard…”

Just then, a shadow descended behind the barmaid. Coll heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. Flissa glanced over her shoulder, then skittered to one side of the doorway. A tall, dark-haired woman strode into the room. It was the Seeker that Robert had gone all starry-eyed over, Coll realized. For a moment, Coll had half a mind to ask the Seeker if she’d seen Robert out there on the mountain. But it then occurred to Coll that the woman probably didn’t have the time to keep track of every rash hothead in Haven. So Coll said nothing. Adan, for his part, turned and addressed the Seeker with something approaching respect.

“Lady Cassandra,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

The Seeker leveled a glare at Flissa before addressing the apothecary.

“As you no doubt just heard,” Cassandra said, dryly, “we have recovered a survivor. Unfortunately for us, she is unconscious.”

“And let me guess,” Adan said, folding his arms over his chest. “You need me to patch her up so you can knock her around a little as you ask her questions.”

Cassandra did not deny it. “We need answers from her,” the Seeker said. “But I fear we may lose her before that happens.”

“Ugh,” Adan groaned. “I can only imagine what a survivor of that blast must look like.” In the doorway, Flissa went a bit pale. Coll just made a face, thinking of it.

“It is not like that,” Cassandra told them. “She is…whole. Sort of. She has a strange wound on her hand. We think it might be killing her.”

“A wound on her hand?” Adan repeated. “Unlikely. You sure she ain’t concussed? Bleeding internally?”

“She fell out of the breach,” Cassandra said, coldly. “Anything might have happened to her in there.”

“She was _in_ the breach?” Coll gaped, unable to keep silent at that bit of information. “Yeh sure she ain’t possessed? _That_ might be what’s killin’ her.”

“She might be,” Cassandra replied, glancing at Coll warily. “But we do not know for certain. We do not know what’s wrong. Or how to fix it.”

The Seeker looked very annoyed by this fact, Coll thought. Typical soldier. They thought they could command everything, but injuries rarely complied. Neither did Fade magic, come to that.

“I don’t have anything to treat possession,” Adan grumbled. He waved a hand at his rows of potions and tonics in annoyance. “That’s a mage’s problem, not mine.”

“She’s dying and we need her alive,” Cassandra said in clipped tones. “That’s the relevant point. As we sit here talking, her time grows short.”

“So bring her in already,” Adan said.

“I cannot,” Cassandra explained. “She has already caused a stir. We put her in the Chantry for her own protection.”

“Much good it’ll do her when she comes to,” Adan muttered. “Fine,” he said, reaching for a few potions and tucking them into a basket. “Just don’t expect a miracle, Seeker. Given what’s happened here, the Maker clearly isn’t in the mood for dispensing them.”

“I’m coming, too,” Coll said, rising to her feet.

When Cassandra seemed to hesitate, Coll quickly said: “I’m a mage and a healer. Just ask Adan. I can keep a body alive.”

“She can,” Adan said, noncommittally. “Might as well bring her along.”

Cassandra made a snorting sort of noise, then threw up her hands. “Fine,” she said. “Hurry though. We haven’t much time.”

Coll hurried to Adan’s side, grabbing a second basket and shoving handfuls of herbs into it. The two of them picked up their baskets, then followed Cassandra out of the cabin and into the bright light of day. The sunlight reflecting off the snow hurt Coll’s eyes. She shivered in the cold as they walked the short distance to the Chantry. Already there was a small knot of people outside the Chantry doors, shouting at the lone guard on duty.

“Let us through!” one of the villagers yelled at him. “We know she’s in here!”

“So she is,” the young man replied, evenly. “But until we have a chance to question her and determine her guilt, we ask that everyone remain calm.”

“Calm!” someone else cried. “The Divine’s dead and you want calm?”

“Maker save us,” Cassandra grumbled as they neared. She shoved a path for them through the people, striding right up to the guard.

“Let the healers through, Keran,” she told the guard. “Go on,” she said to Coll and Adan. “She’s in the crypt.”

Well, Coll thought wryly. That sounded ominous. And efficient, really. Coll highly approved of this Seeker’s way of thinking. As Coll followed Adan out of the sun and into the mercifully darkened Chantry, Coll heard the Seeker turn to the crowd and say:

“Go away, all of you. You have no business here.”

Coll highly doubted those words would get the crowd to disperse, but that was the Seeker’s problem, not hers. She hurried to follow Adan’s long strides up the Chantry nave, then through a door to the left and down the stairs into the gloomy underbelly of the building.

“This air won’t help anybody heal,” Adan said as he shivered. Coll just shrugged. The point was to get the prisoner lucid enough to talk, not to make them comfortable. They walked a short distance, past a locked room, and then into a space that might once have been for storage. Now it was a dungeon, with barred cells along each wall and a few torches for light. Beside the cell to the left stood two guards - a woman and a big fellow. They looked exhausted, Coll noticed. Behind them, in the gloom, was what looked like a mass of blankets on a cot.

“Eh, we’re the healers,” Adan announced, holding up his basket of potions as proof.

“Right,” the woman said. She nodded at the big fellow, who turned and unlocked the door. Adan strode into the cell, and Coll followed him. Adan looked down at the body, then called to the guards.

“It’s dark in here. You got a lantern or something?”

“A what?” the woman guard called back.

“A lantern,” Adan said. When they looked a bit confused, he scowled. “Oh, for the Maker’s sake, there’s one right there.”

Adan set down his basket and went to collect the lantern. As he did so, Coll stepped aside. A bar of torchlight then fell across the prisoner’s face, illuminating pale, freckled skin and a mass of bright, red hair.

Coll gasped.

 _It couldn’t be,_ she thought, her heart suddenly pounding. But it _was_. Coll nearly dropped to her knees, she felt so weak with relief.

“Creators love you, lass,” she breathed.

It was Kate. All the gods be praised, it was Kate. Or rather, Coll thought, her relief turning instantly to horror, may all the gods be cursed. Because if the people of Haven thought Kate was the one who broke the sky, then they would kill her for sure. No, Coll thought, her stomach turning. They’d torture her, and _then_ they’d kill her. The thought made Coll feel sick.

Of course, Coll had been fine with a bit of torture for a murderer. But this was Kate. There was no possible way that Kate had destroyed the Conclave. First of all, Kate didn’t have that kind of power. No normal mage did, so far as Coll was aware. And secondly, Coll _knew_ Kate. This was the woman who had puked all over the floor just seconds after her first battle. Coll couldn’t imagine that Kate had gone from tenderhearted scholar to hardened killer since the last time they’d spoken.

But these Chantry shems didn’t know that, Coll thought. They didn’t know Kate at all. And in that moment, as Adan bent to fiddle with the lantern, Coll realized she had a choice to make. She could tell these people that this was Kate Trevelyan, a mage who would never do the things they had accused her of.

Or Coll could keep quiet.

Coll felt her stomach twist into an even tighter knot. In her experience, humans never listened - not to elven mages, anyhow. Besides, if Coll got arrested by association, then she couldn’t heal Kate. And Kate needed healing. The woman had always been a pale thing, but now she was white as snow - all cold and clammy like snow, too. Her lips looked a bit blue, and her breathing was shallow. That Seeker was absolutely right, Coll thought, desperately. Kate _was_ dying.

Well then, Coll thought, that settled it. Kate needed help, and no one would work so hard to fix Kate as Coll would. So Coll would keep her Dalish mouth shut and say nothing. Thank the gods that her name hadn’t shown up alongside Kate’s in the letters from Ostwick, Coll thought. At the time, Coll had bristled at the indignity of being written off as ‘and other companions’. Now, she was grateful that she’d been dismissed in that way.

As for the other companions in that letter, Coll thought, maybe they could help, too. If - _when_ Robert and Lysette showed up, they could help solve this muddle. Or if Kate woke, then surely Lady Trevelyan could talk her own way out of this mess. Kate had a way with words that Coll entirely lacked. But until Coll had those well-connected humans beside her, she would keep her head down and do what she did best. She would heal Kate, and let the rest sort itself out.

“Get that light over here,” she snapped to Adan.

“Hang onto your trousers,” Adan shot back as he fiddled with the flint. A moment later, the lantern flicked to life. Adan hung the lantern from a hook in the center of the cell. That hook was probably meant for shackles, Coll thought, meant to string up prisoners by their hands - or by their necks. What a nasty thought.

Ignoring that, Coll turned her attention to Kate’s hands. They had been bound, she saw, for there were abrasions on Kate’s slim wrists. Now, Kate’s hands lay unbound and limp upon her belly. The right hand was gloved; the left hand had been bandaged with a lumpy length of red cloth.

Who in feck had done _that_? Coll made a face as she reached for the bandaged hand. It was shite work, for it was already bleeding through. Coll untied the bandage, feeling a strange prickling at the back of her neck.

Something was clearly very wrong here, Coll thought. But that was all the warning she had. For the moment the bandage loosened, Kate’s hand crackled and sparked, and green lightning flared from her palm.

“Feck me!” Coll cried, dropping back onto her rear end.

“What in the Void?” Adan said, drawing back with his arm up to shield him. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Coll snapped at him. “It’s that weird thing the Seeker was talkin’ about.”

It was, too, Coll thought. Kate’s hand was bleeding underneath the wound, but the wound itself was like an electric storm in Kate’s fist. More than that, though, Coll thought, the air felt a bit wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, exactly.

“Fascinating,” someone murmured.

Coll turned at once. Directly behind her, staring through the bars, stood an elf. He was like no elf Coll had ever seen. He was dressed like a vagabond, but he carried himself with more confidence than the First Enchanter ever had. He clearly wasn’t a Dalish, for he had no vallaslin on his face, but he didn’t seem like a Circle mage or a city elf. At the moment, his eyes were narrowed on Kate’s face in a very cunning way. Coll disliked him at once.

“So this has fallen to a human then,” the elf went on, so softly that Coll almost missed his words. “I wonder how that happened.”

His accent was strange to Coll’s ears. She know of no tribe that spoke in that way, not even the really traditional ones.

“Oi,” Coll snapped, scrambling up off of the floor. “Who in feck are you?”

“I am a mage who comes to offer aid,” the elf told her. He said this with a calm, ‘I’m above all this’ tone that set Coll’s teeth on edge.

“What Circle are yeh from?” Coll snapped. The question came out harsh, her suspicion plain.

“None,” the elf replied. “I believe the term most commonly applied is - what was it? Ah yes. A hedge mage.” He smiled as if this were some private joke. Coll didn’t find it funny in the slightest.

“Oh, feck me,” she groaned. “Ain’t that the _last_ thing we need.”

The few hedge mages Coll had ever met were weird, half-crazy gobshites. Their only real skills were shape shifting themselves into weasels or whatever to avoid getting caught by templars.

The elf’s eyes narrowed slightly at Coll’s reaction.

“I am surprised that you would show disdain for magics learned outside the Chantry’s laws,” he said. “You are a Dalish, are you not? You must…”

“Yeah, I _left_ the feckin’ Dalish,” Coll interrupted him. “I’m a _Circle_ mage now, and their magic suits me just fine.”

“Ah,” the elf said. “I might have guessed. The Veil around you is all rigidity. Whether that is from your tower or from your clan, I cannot say. But it limits your skill.”

“Oh?” Coll said, folding her arms over her chest. “It limits my skill, does it? And where did _you_ study, boyo? In a cave somewhere? I’m guessin’ by the smell…”

“Shut it, Coll,” Adan snapped. “I’m not about to loose a patient to some elven pissing match.”

“That’s enough,” another voice added. Cassandra had returned, and she strode into the dungeon with a furious expression on her face. Coll was willing to bet that the crowd outside the Chantry had proven more difficult to send away than the Seeker had expected.

“We’ve got this…” Coll began, but Cassandra cut her off.

“Solas here says he has knowledge of the Veil, and Leliana vouches for him.” As she spoke, the Seeker held up a letter in her hand, then folded it neatly and stuffed it into her pocket.

“If you cannot work with Solas,” Cassandra went on, “then _you_ will be the one to leave, Dalish.”

 _Ah feck,_ Coll thought, biting her tongue. Now she’d have to put up with the bugger if she wanted to stay near Kate. The elf gave Coll a mild, slightly smug glance. Coll resisted the urge to flip a rude gesture in his direction.

“As you can see, Solas,” Cassandra went on, waving a hand at the cell, “I already enlisted the aid of two healers. But if you can help, you are welcome to try.”

“Thank you,” the elf replied.

“Another elf mage?” Adan grumbled. “Fine. Sure. Put ‘em all in the cell here. It’ll be real cozy like.”

Solas inclined his head as if the man had been serious, then stepped into the cell. Coll backed away, drawing close to Kate. She resisted the urge to bar the elf’s approach. That would give away her interest in Kate for sure. Instead, Coll just shrugged and said with forced nonchalance:

“Fine. I’ll work with the bare-face if I have to. Let’s get to it then.”

She waved a hand at Kate, and walked to the far side of the cot, away from Solas. Cassandra looked through the bars with a frown.

“It is so strange to think,” the Seeker murmured. “That one small woman could unleash so much horror with blood magic.”

Coll opened her mouth, about to protest that Kate would _never_ stoop to blood magic, but she caught herself just in time. _Bollocks_ , Coll thought. This keeping quiet business was harder than she remembered.

“Your prisoner is no blood mage, Seeker,” Solas said.

Coll blinked in surprise. She wasn’t surprised by the _statement_ , of course. She knew perfectly well that Kate had never done blood magic. But she was surprised that this bald stranger could tell such a thing. Apparently, Coll wasn’t the only one who was surprised by this announcement.

“You cannot know that,” Cassandra sniffed.

“I can,” the elf replied. “For first, she bears no self-inflicted wounds as those that blood mages make upon themselves. And secondly, there is no taint upon the Veil around her. She is no maleficarum.”

Coll nodded her head to one side. That was either the best bullshite she’d ever heard, or the elf actually _could_ read the Veil that well. Huh, Coll thought. Maybe he wasn’t a total loss after all.

“Can you heal her?” Coll asked, cautiously.

Because as much as Coll hated to admit it, she honestly didn’t know what to do with that flickering thing upon Kate’s hand. It wasn’t a normal wound, that could heal itself with a bit of magical help. That thing was a weird, lingering magic that had no business being there at all.

“I do not know,” the elf replied. Coll snorted and turned away. Alright, so her first assessment had been correct. This fellow was a useless eejit.

“You said your soldiers saw this mark close rifts?” Solas asked.

“It did?” Coll blinked.

 _That_ was a new one. And by Mythal, wouldn’t that be lucky? Haven had been buzzing with the news of new rifts opening up all night long. If Kate could close them, then surely these shems couldn’t kill her outright.

“We do not know what the mark did,” Cassandra frowned. “It is just a burn from the rift, was it not?”

“No,” the elf replied. “It twists when the Veil twists. It sparks when the breach sparks. But the stress of pain is weakening her body. She’ll not last long without our aid.”

“Damnation,” Adan muttered. Coll said nothing, but she entirely agreed with the sentiment.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Cassandra asked Solas.

“I’ll try whatever magic that I can,” the elf replied.

“Then get to work on her,” Coll said, lifting her chin. “If you’ve got a spell, cast it. If yeh don’t, then let me put some elfroot on it, at least.”

“Elfroot?” Solas asked. He sounded genuinely intrigued by this idea.

“For the bleeding,” Coll replied. “Whatever that mark is, the hand underneath is still a hand. It’ll respond to the usual remedies, I’d expect. That ought to take some of the stress off her system,” she added.

“Good point,” Solas said, his tone approving. “I think perhaps a ward might stop the mark from spreading further on her hand.”

Coll inclined her head. “Worth a try,” she admitted.

“Aw, see now,” Adan said, handing Coll an elfroot potion. “You elves managed to stop fighting after all.”

Coll flipped him a hand gesture that was considered rude in both elven and human circles. Solas did not respond at all, but instead focused his attention upon Kate. Reaching out, he let green light flare in his palms. Coll was not good at Fade-magic of any sort, but the shite looked impressive. A moment later, green, glowing writing flickered over Kate’s palm. The weird runes hung in the air for a moment before soaking into her pale skin.

“That’s a ward now?” Coll asked. She cast Solas a dubious frown. “That don’t look like no ward I’ve ever seen.”

“But it worked,” Adan pointed out. “The sparking stopped.”

And so it had. The electricity had stopped shivering in Kate’s palm, but Coll still frowned.

“The mark didn’t go away,” she pointed out.

“No,” Solas said, frowning. “It did not.” He seemed displeased by this. That worried Coll.

One thing at a time, Coll told herself. First, she needed to apply some elfroot and bind this hand up proper, and then she’d worry about the rest.

“Well that’s something,” Cassandra said behind them. “I’ll leave you to your work. Notify me at once if the prisoner wakes.”

“Of course,” Solas replied.

 _Not a chance,_ Coll thought.

Cassandra nodded to all of them, then half to herself, she murmured:

“I swear I saw that face before…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I must look at the lists of the delegates.”

 _Oh shite, oh shite,_ Coll thought, watching the Seeker leave the room. If Cassandra did that, then she might figure out who Kate was. And then…

Well, would that be a good thing or a bad thing, Coll wondered? Being a noblewoman - not that Kate ever traded on those connections in the Circle - might mean something to this lot. Or it might not. Once again, Coll was tempted to say something, but once again, she kept her mouth shut. Her lone, Dalish word was more likely to be a condemnation at this point than a help.

Coll then realized that Solas was watching her carefully.

“What?” she snapped at him. Before he could answer, she looked down, and began to daub elfroot upon Kate’s hand. Solas just stood, then reached his hand out into the air above Kate and closed his eyes. It looked as if he was praying. Or maybe he was posing and he didn’t know anything about anything. Could be either with a hedge mage. Maybe he was going to shapeshift into a weasel after all.

 _What a ballbag,_ Coll thought.

As she put elfroot on Kate’s hand, Coll silently said a prayer to the elven gods that they do _something_ to help her friend. And for good measure, Coll sent up a prayer to Kate’s Maker and that firey Andraste as well.

And now Coll could only hope that someone was listening.

* * *

It took two more days for the prayer to pay off.

Or maybe, Coll thought, it wasn’t an answer to prayer after all, but just the law of averages. It couldn’t be all bad luck all the time. Three days of shite had to lead to something not so bad eventually. In the last forty-eight hours, Coll had scarcely slept. Neither had Solas or Adan, come to that. Solas turned out to be less of an arse than Coll had initially thought, but she still didn’t like him much. Adan just kept notes and patched up the superficial wounds. He couldn’t do much else.

Then, on the morning of the third day, Coll woke from a restless nap to find that Solas was gone. Adan stood nearby, shaking up a vial of some potion or other.

“Oi,” Coll said, groggily. “Where’s the egghead?”

“Took off in the middle of the night,” Adan replied. “Probably gone to look for more elfroot or something. We are running low.”

Coll doubted that very much. For some reason, she had this niggling suspicion that the elf had run out on them. But before she could say this, Adan added:

“Doesn’t much matter though. She’s waking up.”

“She is?” Coll shot up out of her sleeping roll and headed for the cot, but it was empty.

“Where…?” Coll trailed off, her eyes widening in horror.

For there, in the center of the dungeon, was Kate. She was kneeling on the cold floor with her hands shackled before her. Her head lolled to one side, but she was upright. And seeing her like that made Coll’s heart clutch in the worst sort of way.

 _Oh, Kate_ , she thought. She almost said something aloud, but just then, Adan scooped up the last of his potions and put them in his basket.

“Cassandra’s on her way, and the Nightingale, too. We’d best clear out.”

“What?” Coll turned to him, then looked back at Kate. “No! But she…”

“Unless you had something to tell them about the prisoner?” Adan said, his eyes narrowing. “You did seem to take a special interest in her.”

“I just want to know what happened,” Coll said, drawing herself up stiffly. “I want to hear what the girl has to say for herself.”

“Well, that’s not our job,” Adan replied. “Come on. There are plenty more patients to be had. We’ll hear what happens to her soon enough.”

Coll didn’t want to hear second hand news. And once again, Coll was struck with the thought that maybe she should just tell the Seeker the truth.

But by now she had been lying for too long, Coll realized. If she told the truth now, Cassandra would suspect Coll of far more than just lies. And Kate would be suspected of worse as well.

Ah bollocks, Coll thought. She’d made a hash of this from the start. In the end, though, it didn’t much matter. A big soldier wandered into the room just then, pointed his meaty finger at Coll and said:

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

“We’re the healers,” Adan said, grabbing Coll by the elbow. “And we were just leaving. If you need us again, we’ll be nearby. Right Coll?”

Adan gave Coll a searching look. And for a moment, Coll wondered if Adan had already guessed that she had more than a casual interest in the prisoner’s survival. But then a group of soldiers came marching into the room, swords at the ready. Adan dragged her out of the way and out into the hallway. Coll looked back over her shoulder, desperate to help in some way, but she knew there was nothing she could do now. Kate looked quite small from here, her fire-red hair like a candle’s flame in the midst of all that gloom.

“Ah, feck it all,” Coll muttered, her brows drawing together. “I should have…”

But what she should have done, she could not say.

 _Feckin’ coward, yeh are,_ Coll thought to herself. But it was too late now. So Coll kept her mouth shut and let Adan lead her away.


	13. Resignation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback in which Cullen tenders his resignation and Kate gets ogled

4th of Drakonis, 9:41 Dragon, Kirkwall Barracks (or, 5 months ago)

* * *

The letter landed on the desk with a soft _plop_. It covered a ledger of numbers and accounts, and the guard-captain looked up with a start. Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head to one side.

“You could have knocked, you know,” Aveline said.

On the other side of the desk, Cullen shrugged. The woman’s stern reaction was oddly comforting. Over the past few years, the city of Kirkwall had changed: for the better, for the worse, and in some cases, it had simply changed. But Guard-Captain Aveline was steady as a rock. The thought reassured Cullen.

Yes, he told himself. He was doing the right thing.

Aloud, he said: “I did knock. Twice.”

“You did?”

“Your reports must be engrossing,” Cullen observed, waving his hand at the guard-captain’s cluttered desktop.

“Never ending, more like,” Aveline replied with a sigh. “So,” she said, reaching for the letter. “What’s the catastrophe this time?”

“No catastrophe,” Cullen said. “Not to my knowledge, anyway.”

“You mean this isn’t a damage report?” Aveline asked, breaking the seal on the letter. “It makes me nervous when the templar knight-captain shows up in the barracks. Generally, I don’t hear from the Gallows unless someone’s gone missing or turned up dead.”

“Or the entire city breaks out into open war,” Cullen added, dryly.

“I was right in the thick of _that_ ,” Aveline reminded him. Cullen nodded his head to one side, conceding the point.

“Nothing so dramatic,” he told her. “This is just my letter of resignation. That’s all.”

“Your resig…” Aveline’s mouth dropped open and she blinked at Cullen in surprise.

“Is that so surprising?” he asked, his brows drawing together. He thought Aveline would have been indifferent to the news, maybe even happy to see Cullen go. But instead, she looked rather concerned.

Instead of answering, Aveline snapped the letter open and read it silently. After a moment, she looked up at Cullen, frowning.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“I thought I explained myself clearly enough,” Cullen replied. “I’ve been offered a position elsewhere and…”

“Yes, I read that,” Aveline interrupted with an impatient wave of her hand. “Cassandra Pentaghast has been trying to recruit guardsmen as well. I’m just surprised you would join them.”

“Why?” Cullen replied. “The Divine is trying to restore order in the midst of all this chaos. It’s an admirable goal.”

“I don’t question the goals of the Divine,” Aveline replied. “It’s just, well…”

“What?” he wanted to know.

Aveline made a face and then shrugged as if to say, ‘well, you _did_ ask.’

“You can’t exactly leave the templars, Cullen,” she said. “No one does.”

Cullen had anticipated this response. It was the most common reaction to his decision, after all. Still, it galled him to hear it once again. Cullen ran his gloved hand over his hair and turned away.

“I’m getting rather tired of people saying that,” he muttered.

“I was married to a templar, once,” Aveline said, setting the letter down. “I know how the Order works. It’s a world unto itself. Once you’re part of it, you can never walk away.”

Cullen looked at her sharply. “Well, I intend to do so,” he told her, shortly. He hoped that would be the end of it, but of course, it wasn’t.

“So the Divine will supply you with lyrium?” Aveline asked bluntly. “I hear it’s hard to come by with the war on. Though I suppose if anyone can get hold of the stuff, it’s her.”

Cullen bit back a sharp retort. Could Aveline really believe that he had joined the Divine for such a reason? Well, he thought, let her have her assumptions. He knew why he was doing this, even if he couldn’t fully explain the reasons to anyone else. Much of the Divine’s plans were still secret, and Cullen intended to keep them that way.

“You let me worry about the lyrium,” he said instead. Thankfully, Aveline let the matter drop.

“Alright,” she said. “So you’re leaving Kirkwall. But I still don’t understand why you’d give a letter of resignation to me. I’m not your employer.”

Cullen let out a weary sigh. “You’d think that without a superior officer, I wouldn’t have to inform anyone of my decision to leave,” he said. “But instead, it makes everything more complicated. I had to write to every Knight-Commander in the Free Marches to inform them of the change in leadership, file a report with the Grand Cathedral, argue for an hour with Seneschal Bran…” He rolled his eyes at that. “And then, for good measure, I figured I should tell you. After all, you are the unofficial ruler of this city.”

“Don’t say that,” Aveline said, cringing. “I am the Captain of the Guard. Nothing more.”

“You say that as if it’s a small thing,” Cullen said with a shake of his head. “Keeping order in this city is no small feat.”

“Really?” Aveline asked, dryly. “There was a time when you took issue with my leadership.”

“Not me,” Cullen replied. “I looked into accusations against you, nothing more. Anyhow, you and Hawke proved the gossips wrong on that score. It’s because I trust your leadership that I know Kirkwall will be in capable hands when I leave.”

“Well then,” Aveline said, leaning back and folding her hands on her desk. “And here I thought you still were watching our every move, waiting to take over the guard.”

“Why would I do that?” Cullen frowned. “You had things well in hand.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Aveline replied. “I would have liked to have heard it a few years back, but better late than never, I suppose.”

“Oh,” Cullen said, feeling a bit chagrined. “I thought that went without saying.”

“Not exactly,” Aveline replied. “But it hardly matters now. And as we’re in the business of exchanging compliments, I must say that I’ll be sorry to see _you_ go, Knight-Captain. You kept the templars in check over the past months - the mages, too. Quite fair to everyone involved, actually. I’m impressed.”

Cullen was surprised to hear this. He had always gotten the impression that Aveline liked him as much as her associate Varric did - which is to say, not at all.

“Oh,” he said, a bit taken aback. “Well, thank you. But you’re one of the few who thinks so. My defense of the remaining mages has not endeared me to the people of Kirkwall. There have been several requests for the Rite of Annulment.”

Even as Cullen said that, he felt an inward flash of shame. There had been a time when he, too, had believed the Rite an excellent solution to the dangers of blood magic. It was astonishing how close he’d come to turning into a monster like Meredith, Cullen thought with a shudder. Across the desk, Aveline just waved off his mention of the Rite of Annulment with a snort.

“It was only a handful of aristocrats who wanted _that_ ,” she told him. “You shouldn’t let the them push you around, knight-captain. They’re just worried that their fancy parties will be interrupted. Would do them some good to realize their world isn’t so removed from that of the common folk.”

“True,” Cullen agreed. “But you know the nobility. They’ll never acknowledge anything unless it shows up on their doorstep wearing lace and smelling of Orlesian perfume.”

“So ignore them back,” Aveline suggested.

“Easier said than done,” Cullen told her. “The nobility is where our money comes from. We operate on tithes, not taxes like you guards. And half of my recruits are related to some high-born family or other. Not that I have a lot of recruits these days,” he added, “not with the rebellion dragging on.”

“Getting a bit thin on the ground, are you?” Aveline asked him.

“I am,” Cullen sighed. “And it’s not just the numbers, either. Your guards would follow you into the Void to see your orders carried out. But the templars…” He broke off when he realized he was blathering on about the Order to someone who was not a part of it. Feeling a bit disloyal, Cullen cleared his throat and shook his head.

“Never mind,” he said.

“Are you having problems with the templars?” Aveline asked him, warily. “If you are, I should know about it.”

How to answer that, Cullen wondered? Yes, he was, but not in the way that Aveline meant. The problem wasn’t that the men under his command lacked obedience. It was that the Order lacked vision. Lately, the entire Chantry seemed to have lost its way. Or maybe it had been traveling in the wilderness for years. Either way, Cullen grew tired of following blindly as the world fell into chaos.

But he hardly knew how to explain all this, especially to someone so no-nonsense as the guard-captain. The two of them respected one another, but they weren’t exactly close. Of course, Cullen thought, he wasn’t close to anyone here in Kirkwall. Little wonder, really. The Order had kept him too busy to do anything but work.

“Are the Kirkwall templars insubordinate?” Aveline pressed. “If they are, and if you’re leaving…”

“No, no,” Cullen said, shaking his head. “It’s not anything like that. It’s just time for me to move on.”

“If you say so,” Aveline replied. “So, what will you be doing for the Divine?”

“I can’t say,” Cullen told her, a bit apologetically. “I must leave it at that.”

“Fair enough,” Aveline said. “And you’re taking a few templars with you into this new…job.”

“Just four,” Cullen said. “Keran, Rylen, Ruvena…Morris.”

Aveline winced. “Morris?”

Cullen sighed. “I know. But what else was I to do with him?”

“He’ll keep you on your toes,” Aveline said, as if he didn’t already know it. “So who will take over your duties?”

Cullen had expected this. Of course, that would be Aveline’s ultimate worry. She likely feared that some dull-witted, over-zealous recruit would be taking over his position and make life difficult for her. Cullen could hardly blame her. The guards and the templars hadn’t exactly gotten along over the past decade, after all.

“Knight-Templar Margitte will be taking command,” Cullen told her.

“Margitte is it?” Aveline nodded her approval. “A sensible girl. A bit stricter with the mages than I would like, perhaps.”

“We spoke on that score,” Cullen assured her. “She acts out of caution, not cruelty. I hope as she gets used to command, she’ll come around. But she might do well with your guidance.”

“I’ll stop by the Gallows later to speak with her,” Aveline said, folding up Cullen’s letter and setting it into a drawer on her desk. “Well then, off to Ferelden, are you?”

“That’s right,” Cullen said. He hadn’t really thought much about it, not with all the preparations that needed doing. But in the end, he was actually… _excited_ about this change.

No, he thought, ‘excited’ was not the right word for it. ‘Hopeful’, maybe. He was looking forward to it, rather. And he hadn’t looked forward to anything in a very long time.

“It’s pleasant this time of year,” Aveline said, conversationally. “Those winter storms make you grateful for the spring.”

“Yes,” Cullen said, his lips curving into a half-smile. “Maker knows, I haven’t seen a Ferelden spring since the Blight…”

He stopped there, and Aveline also looked a bit uncomfortable. No one who had fled north after the Blight spoke much about that time. Cullen certainly didn’t.

He stood there stiffly for a moment, trying to think if he ought to say anything more. Joining the Order as young as he had, Cullen had been trained to give and take orders, and to give quick, efficient reports. He had never gotten the hang of greetings and goodbyes and all the small talk in between. So, trying for politeness, Cullen said the first thing that popped into his mind:

“I want to thank you, guard-captain. I know I didn’t endear myself to many people here, but you were painless enough to work with.”

“Thank you,” Aveline said, dryly.

“Oh,” Cullen blinked. “I guess that did come out a bit, um…”

Aveline snorted. “It did.”

“Ah,” he cringed.

“It’s alright,” Aveline said, “You were in a strange world over there in the Gallows. Probably best that you are getting out.” She held out a hand and added: “I hope you make some friends in Ferelden, Knight-Captain. It would do you some good.”

Cullen frowned at that bit of motherly advice. What did Aveline know about it, he wondered in annoyance? Alright, so Cullen ended his days alone. But he had his work. He had a roof over his head and books on his bedside table. It seemed selfish to ask for anything more.

But then, Aveline was a captain as well, and she had friends. She even had a husband to go home to each night. At the thought, an odd feeling crept over Cullen. It felt a bit like jealousy, really. He shook it off at once.

“Friends,” he repeated, shaking Aveline’s hand and then letting it drop. “Right.”

And because he had nothing more to add, Cullen turned on his heel and left.

* * *

19th of Drakonis, 9:41 Dragon, Trevelyan Manor (or, 2 weeks later)

* * *

“Did you hear?” Lady Teague said, her eyes sparkling with the excitement that comes from passing on gossip. “They say that the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall has resigned.”

 _Resigned,_ Kate thought. Resignation sounded lovely. In fact, she would love to resign from present company and go read a book instead. The ball had begun so well, too. There had been music and dancing and tasty little cakes. It was a pleasant change of pace from the quiet of the Circle tower. But then great-aunt Lucy had maneuvered Kate into a conversation with some acquaintances that needed ‘entertaining.’ It was a nicer way of saying that they wanted an audience for their venomous gossip.

Truly, Kate thought, it never ceased to amaze her how the nobility of Ostwick could spend an entire dance party discussing politics. It made her wonder if the Arl’s council talked about music and gowns when court was in session, just to balance things out.

“The Knight-Commander resigned?” Arlessa Penrose asked. She leaned over, pressing a hand to her jeweled necklace and rather obviously displaying her massive bosoms. Beside her, Major Hemmitt looked down the woman’s cleavage with a grin.

“It was the Knight-Captain,” the major said, speaking to the arlessa’s chest. “They never replaced the Knight-Commander. Not since she got, um…”

“Petrified?” Kate suggested.

The major blinked up at her. “Er, quite,” he said. He made a blustering, coughing sort of sound. “Beastly business,” he added, after a moment.

“World’s gone insane,” Arlessa Penrose sniffed. “Mages, templars. Those wild raiders with the big hats.”

Kate pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud. She would hardly lump all these groups together, but judging by their knowing ‘harumphs,’ this crowd would.

“One hardly blames the fellow for leaving,” Bann Teague said, nodding to his wife as he sipped his champagne. “Beastly place, Kirkwall. Makes you wish that Chantry explosion of theirs had wiped out the whole city. It would serve them right for all the debauchery that goes on there.”

“Quite, dear,” Lady Teague agreed. She leaned over and in a loud whisper said, “I understand that their templars regularly visit the brothel there. In _groups_.”

A series of gasps went up at this announcement. Only Kate remained quiet. After a moment, she asked:

“Is there really only one brothel in Kirkwall? For so large a city, you’d think there would be more.”

The others turned and stared at her.

“It’s a question of economics…” she said, trailing off. Clearly her academic interest was going to be misconstrued by this crowd. She pressed her lips together and resolved to say no more.

“The coterie shut all the others down,” Major Hemmitt said. “But the Rose is big enough to manage…um…”

He realized that everyone was now staring at him, and cleared his throat loudly.

“Anyhow,” the major went on, stuffing his hands into his waistcoat pockets, “About that templar knight-captain. He’ll make a bad end, mark my words. You see ‘em by the docks, sometimes, the washed-up ones who left the Order. Begging coin for their lyrium.”

“Shameful,” Arlessa Penrose sniffed. She sounded perfectly delighted by the prospect.

Kate decided she’d had enough of this. She glanced at the clock on the mantle, trying to determine if she’d been standing here long enough to satisfy Aunt Lucy. A minute or two more, she thought. Then she could excuse herself.

“So, Lady Katerina,” Major Hemmitt said. “You’re a mage. What do _you_ think of all this?” The man turned to stare at Kate’s cleavage for a change. He grinned, as if he very much liked the view.

Kate inwardly sighed. She should have run when she had the chance. This was _always_ how these conversations went - both with the staring at the breasts and the general subject matter. Whenever the conversation turned to magic, Kate was expected speak for every mage everywhere, from hedge wizards to Tevinter magisters.

On the other hand, the members of the Ostwick Circle treated Kate as if she were the spokesperson for every aristocrat in the Free Marches. Why were the nobility of Kirkwall calling for an annulment of the Circles, they’d ask Kate? Could the Circle count on the city of Ostwick to remain calm as the war went on around them?

Frankly, Kate detested it. She did not like trading in rumors, and she could speak to no one’s experience but her own.

And yet, Kate could never entirely get away from these kinds of questions, nor could she completely avoid the role of representative. In fact, just last week, Kate and her mentor, Lydia, had been speaking about this very thing:

_“I don’t know,” Kate had asked, waving a hand at the invitations on her bed. “It seems wrong, somehow. I’m going to spend a week drinking tea in salons, dancing the alamonde, and getting fitted for new gowns that I don’t even need. And all the while, the Circles are falling apart. Mages and templars are fighting. Innocent people are trapped in the middle.”_

_“All the more reason that you should visit home,” Lydia had replied. “You show up at those parties, you act polite, and you say a good word for us. No trust me, Kate,” she insisted when Kate had looked doubtful. “That does more to help our cause than you realize. What we need now is for the citizens of Thedas to remember that mages are people first. They need to trust that we can be calm and civil. Your dance parties do us a world of good, my dear.”_

And so, here Kate was, standing in a new gown, being as charming as she could manage, and her feet were aching from the past hour of dancing. So because it was the best way to help the Circle, and because Major Hemmitt’s question did require an answer, Kate politely replied:

“I think the entire affair is very unfortunate. One wishes there was a simple answer to the problem.”

There, she thought. That was vague enough to mean anything. Four heads nodded at her bland statement.

“Too true, too true,” Major Hemmitt muttered. “You’re a wise girl, and at such a young age, too.”

He addressed this compliment to her nipples, and Kate fought the urge to put her arms over her chest. Instead, she cleared her throat meaningfully and kept her head high. The hint was entirely lost on the man. But just then, Kate spotted a familiar face in the crowd. She sighed with relief. She was saved - at least for a while.

“What did I miss?” Robert asked, striding up behind Major Hemmitt and speaking over the top of the man’s balding head. “Any duels fought? Reputations ruined?”

“You delight in the misfortune of others, do you, Lord Robert?” Lady Teague said, severely.

“What, don’t you?” Robert returned. “That’s all you ever talk about.”

Lady Teague just stammered and stared, while the bann sputtered: “Shocking. You’re absolutely _shocking,_ lad.”

“Why thank you,” Robert grinned easily.

Kate bit back a laugh. _She_ could never get away with saying the things that Robert said, but she did love his way of confusing the nobility with his frankness.

“We were speaking of Kirkwall,” Major Hemmitt said, scowling. “Not that a green boy like _you_ understands the importance of such things.”

“Kirkwall’s important?” Robert said, disbelieving. “If you say so.”

With this flippant statement, Robert held up the two glasses of champagne that he carried. One of these he raised in a mock toast. The other he shoved at Kate. Kate took it at once.

 _Thank you,_ she mouthed to him. Robert just winked at her.

“Should you be drinking, Lady Katerina?” Arlessa Penrose frowned and looked down her nose at Kate. “As a mage it would be most unwise…”

“Isn’t that Ser Goran speaking to your daughter over there?” Robert said, pointing at the other end of the room with his pinky finger. He grinned and took a sip of champagne as the arlessa gasped.

“Where?” she demanded. “If that blackguard…”

Before she could finish, Robert grabbed for Kate with his free hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to borrow my cousin,” he said.

He dragged Kate away. Kate barely kept a hold of her glass as he led her out of a nearby doorway and onto the terrace. Kate breathed a sigh of relief the moment that the door swung shut behind them.

“Ahhh,” Robert said, in a booming voice. “Freedom!”

“Hush!” Kate laughed. “Do you want mother to hear you? They’ll drag us back in by our ears.”

“Yes,” Robert said, turning to Kate, “and that _would_ be a tragedy. So,” he said, taking a sip of his champagne. “How fare the finest biddies and lechers of Ostwick?”

“They’re much the same as my last visit,” Kate said dryly, taking a sip of the champagne. She decided to savor it, since it would likely be the only taste she’d get for a long while.

“Aunt Lucy left you to placate them, did she?” Robert asked. “How come she never talks to the obnoxious ones?”

“Because she talks to the important ones,” Kate replied, evenly. “I’m tasked with being pleasant to the difficult ones that our family can’t afford to snub.”

“That’s bollocks,” Robert said.

“Yes, well, I don’t see you volunteering,” Kate replied.

“Why would I? You do a bang-up job of flattering all these gits.”

Kate just shrugged and took another sip from her glass. “I do try,” she replied.

“Why bother?” Robert asked her. “The only reason I attend is because you do.”

“Well,” Kate said easily. “It’s part of the deal, you see. The family brings me home, I put up with the social nonsense for the first half of the ball, and then I sneak away and enjoy this excellent champagne.”

“Pity you can’t handle more than two glasses of it,” Robert told her.

“True,” Kate agreed. “But I enjoy those two glasses _very_ much.” She smiled and took a sip of her drink.

“One would think you’re a drunk the way you go on after the stuff,” Robert snorted.

“As this is the only thing I drink besides water and tea all year long, I do look forward to it.”

“I can’t even imagine how you endure it,” Robert said with a shudder. “I’d go mad without a good ale at the end of the day. So,” he added, sipping his glass. “What did the old birds have to say to you? Going on about how lovely you are for staying locked up in the tower like a good girl?”

“Something like that,” Kate sighed. “They were blathering on about that Knight-Commander - or Captain rather - from Kirkwall. The one who resigned.”

“You’d think Ostwickers would have something better to natter on about than what the other Free Marchers are doing. Makes us sound like we aren’t interesting enough to have our own news.”

“Well, we aren’t,” Kate pointed out.

“We aren’t,” Robert agreed, tipping his glass in her direction. “But we should have the grace to pretend.”

Kate smiled, but then her smile faded as she let out a long sigh. “You know,” she said at last. “I envy the man.”

“Envy who?” Robert asked her. “Major Hemmitt? He _does_ have an eye for the female form - and on the female form. I appreciate his focus, but not his style. No points for subtlety.”

“No, not him,” Kate rolled her eyes. “The Knight-Com…Captain… fellow.” Kate waved her hand as the bubbles from her drink tickled her nose.

“What’s to envy about him?” Robert wanted to know.

“He _left_ , Robert,” Kate said. “He told everyone in the Gallows to go hang and he left.”

Robert burst out laughing. “Go hang!” he chortled. “Oh, Katie, that’s a good one.”

When Kate looked confused, Robert waved his hand. “Gallows? Hang?”

“Oh!” Kate laughed. “Right. Oh, that is good. Wish I’d thought of it.”

She smirked, then looked out into the gardens and sighed again. “No, but I mean it, Robert. I envy him.”

“The templar?” Robert cringed. “I don’t. Now he’s got to find his own lyrium. Not much to envy there.”

“True,” Kate nodded. “But still…” She turned and looked at the Orlesian doors behind them. The drawing room was aglow, and through the glass, Kate saw people in fine silks, wearing feathers in their hair and carrying laced handkerchiefs and fans. But through the leaded panes, their faces looked distended their smiles a bit crooked. Kate frowned.

“But he still _left_ ,” Kate said. “I mean, the mages and templars - here they are, locked in this bitter war. And before that, they were at odds for centuries. But then one of them up and walks away. I wish I could do the same.”

“Do then,” Robert shrugged.

“You know I can’t,” Kate said. “They have my phylactery. I’m a mage for life. As much as I might like to, I can’t ever resign.”

“Well, and it’s not like you chose the job in the first place,” Robert added. “Not the way templars do.”

Kate nodded. “Hence my envy for the Kirkwall Knight-Whatever,” she agreed.

“But you could resign from the nobility, you know,” Robert said, pointing to the doors behind them.

“Resign from them?”

“Resign from being so polite. Tell them all to sod off,” Robert said.

“Oh,” Kate sighed. “That would be nice.”

“I’d dearly love to see it,” Robert said. “Mmm,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, “I know. Start with the major.”

“Yes,” Kate nodded. “I wouldn’t say a thing. I’d just grab his tits the next time he stares at mine.”

Robert spit out his drink, laughing.

“Ohhh,” he said, when he’d recovered the power of speech. “Do it. You must. Truly Kate, I’ll _pay_ you to.”

“With my luck, he’d just grab me back,” Kate sighed.

“Shock him in the arse. Just a little spell,” Robert suggested, holding his fingers an inch apart. “Just a tiny one. For me?”

“If I shocked anyone, it would be Bann Teague,” Kate said. “Any time he goes on about the ‘heathen elves,’ I want to stick him with a hairpin.”

“You should, too,” Robert nodded. “He’s a self-righteous arse. But really, Kate, you _should_ tell them off. I know, just go in there and make your way through the ballroom. Give them a salon they’d never forget. By the by, I’d suggest an anti-clockwise direction,” he added, circling his finger in the air. “You’d end by the back door that way. Could make a quick exit to the stables.”

Kate chuckled and shook her head. “A good plan,” she sighed. “But I won’t.”

“You’re too polite.” Robert frowned.

“It’s nothing to do with polite,” Kate returned. “It’s because I’m a mage.”

“What, mages can’t be impolite? I think the current war would prove you wrong on that score. Unless they ask permission before they blast people with fire.”

“No, Robert,” Kate shook her head and looked into her glass. “It doesn’t work that way for a mage.”

Robert was quiet for a while, then said: “Well, I still think you should still go grab the major’s tits.”

“It wouldn’t do any good,” Kate shook her head. “The truly nasty ones will never change.”

“All the more reason to teach them a lesson.”

“Honestly, I pity them,” Kate said. “They’re horrible little people. And at the end of the ball, they’ll go home and sit in their big houses and still be horrible little people.”

Robert snorted. “And now I know the drink’s hitting you. You can’t possibly pity the likes of Major Hemmitt, not when _you_ have to go home to the tower.”

“It could be worse,” Kate muttered. “It could be a lot worse. And as it is,” she said, trying to brighten her tone, “I get to come home. These parties may not be your favorite thing, Robert, but for a mage from the tower, they’re a chance to see the world.”

“Trevelyan House is hardly ‘the world,’” Robert said, casting a dubious glance at the darkened gardens.

“But it’s family, Robert,” Kate said with a tip of her head. “It’s not perfect, but I’d do just about anything to hang onto it.”

“Even stand about and talk with the old guard?” Robert asked, frowning.

“Even that,” Kate nodded. “Even talk with Lady Sammara…” Robert winced, “even dance the Montsimmard Reel with Ser Freddy Stanhope, at Aunt Lucy’s request. Oh yes,” she nodded. “Even that.”

“Oh,” Robert groaned. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Kate grimaced.

“You can’t do that dance properly, Kate. You’re too big.”

“Maybe it’s the gentlemen who are too small,” Kate said, taking another sip of her champagne.

“That dance was meant for Orlesians,” Robert told her. “They’re all weird little people who are the same weird little size. It wasn’t meant for big folks like us strapping Trevelyans.”

“I suppose not,” Kate laughed.

“Well, you shouldn’t care what they think of you, Katie,” Robert told her. “You’re just fine as you are.”

Kate looked up with a tipsy smile.

“Thank you, Robert,” she said. “I do appreciate that. And you know,” she added, with a little hiccup, “I don’t care what they think of me any more than you do. I’m not really part of this world, so it’s not like I really care about it.”

“Right,” Robert said, nodding at her. Then he looked a bit thoughtful and stared into his now-empty glass.

“Right,” he said, again.

Kate looked to her own glass, then realized she’d finished her champagne without even meaning to. Well, that was unfortunate. When would she get another one, she wondered?

“Want another drink?” Robert asked her, guessing the direction of her thoughts.

“I probably shouldn’t,” Kate said, grimly. “This will hit me in about five minutes.”

“Well then,” Robert said, laughing, “I suppose that means we have exactly five minutes to break into the wine cellar.”

He and Kate exchanged a glance, and then, with wild grins, they took off for the cellars at a run.


	14. The Prisoner's Doing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate climbs the mountain once more

Cassandra hauled the prisoner off the ground for the third time in as many minutes. This was slowing them down considerably, she thought. They had to reach the forward camp quickly, and the prisoner kept stumbling as if she were drunk.

Cassandra steadied the woman on her feet, then noticed that the woman’s face was pinched with pain, the fingers of her left hand clenched into a fist. At the sight, Cassandra felt a stab of pity. Pity was a most unwelcome sensation. The prisoner was supposed to be the villain here. She was supposed to have answers about the Conclave explosion, at the very least. But instead, the prisoner claimed not to remember a thing. She acted as lost and confused as Cassandra felt.

Cassandra had not believed the mage at first. She had been convinced the prisoner was lying. But either the mage was the best actress that Cassandra had ever met, or she was genuinely horrified at the news that the Conclave had been destroyed. The prisoner had certainly agreed to help quickly enough. That alone had made Cassandra trust her - a little. A very little.

“Are you alright?” Cassandra said, gruffly, as she hauled the woman onto her feet. The mage nodded, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Kate,” she said.

“What?” Cassandra asked.

“Kate,” the woman repeated. “Please, call me Kate.”

“This is hardly the time or place for introductions,” Cassandra replied, frowning. “Besides, we know who you are, Trevelyan.”

The day they’d found the prisoner, Cassandra had gone and pored over the lists of the delegates. The final page had jogged Cassandra’s memory. She’d taken the news to Leliana and Josephine at once. Their prisoner was none other than the last-minute addition from Ostwick: the one who had bristled at being called a Loyalist.

The others had not reacted as Cassandra had wished. Josephine had insisted that the Trevelyans were a pious, honorable family. Furthermore, Josephine had met Lady Trevelyan at a party once and had been impressed by the young lady’s manners. She did not think a Trevelyan could be behind all this. Leliana was less inclined to be swayed by noble connections, but she too was reluctant to condemn the woman.

“The guilty often have an escape route,” the spymaster had insisted. “The ones left to rot in prison are usually innocent.”

As for Cullen, he could not be bothered to leave his post at the forward camp to weigh in on the discussion. Cassandra had sent him the details in a letter. To the missive, Cullen had sent back a short note:

_Speculations are useless. Let’s focus on survival first - for us and the prisoner._

They still needed the prisoner to survive, Cassandra thought, and the woman was in pretty bad shape. She was pale, swaying on her feet, and she looked as if she might faint at any moment. As Cassandra watched, the mage flexed her fingers.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“Will you be able to make it up the hill, or will we need to carry you?” Cassandra asked.

“I think I can walk it off,” the prisoner said.

“I can’t have you falling off the side of the mountain,” Cassandra told her. “It’s a long way down.”

“Falling…” The prisoner blinked. “Robert said the same,” she murmured.

“Robert?” Cassandra repeated.

The name evoked a memory that Cassandra had set aside: a young man helping her in the dead of night, a young man that Cassandra had subsequently lost sight of.

“Wait!” the prisoner went on, “Robert can vouch for me.” She looked back over her shoulder. “He was in Haven. If we find him…”

“Robert?” Cassandra repeated again. Was it the same Robert? The name was common enough.

“Robert Trevelyan,” the prisoner explained. “He’s my cousin. He came with me to the Conclave. He was supposed to wait in the tavern.”

“Is your cousin tall?” Cassandra asked. “Golden eyes, dark complexion?”

“That’s him!” Kate nodded eagerly. “Can I speak to him? Where is he?”

Cassandra stiffened. So it _was_ the same Robert.

“Was he part of the plan?” Cassandra asked archly. “A ruse sent to distract me?”

“Distract you?” Kate looked utterly confused.

“I have not seen Robert in days,” Cassandra said, feeling a pang in her chest even as she spoke the words. “If he is your accomplice, perhaps he ran off to save himself.”

At least, Cassandra _hoped_ he had run off. She didn’t want to consider the possibility that he was dead.

“Accomplice?” Kate repeated. “No! He’s just my cousin. And he would never run from a battle. He’s too… Oh Maker,” she said, growing even more pale. “Maybe the demons…”

Cassandra’s jaw hardened. She, too, had worried for Robert, but she barely knew the fellow. She had only spent a few minutes flirting with him before the whole world had fallen apart. And now she could not afford any further distraction.

“If he is fighting, then he is likely with Cullen,” Cassandra said, though she doubted it.

“Who is Cullen?” Kate asked.

“The commander of our forces - at the forward camp.”

“So, the way we’re going,” Kate said. She looked a bit more steady on her feet, and Cassandra waved her on. The mage set out along the path, her steps growing more sure.

That was good, Cassandra thought. The mage was clearly motivated to find her cousin. As they climbed, the mage’s breathing grew more ragged. Between steps, she suddenly added, “And what about Coll?”

That name sounded familiar, but Cassandra could not think why.

“Coll…”

“My friend,” Kate said. “She’s a Dalish - well, looks like a Dalish, anyhow, and sometimes she gets into, um, trouble.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “Does she have dark hair, dark tattoos, and a very, shall we say, colorful way of speaking?”

“Then she’s alright?” Kate asked, hopefully.

Cassandra ground her teeth together. “I should have known,” she said.

“Oh, Maker, what did she do?” Kate asked, nervously. “Please, Coll doesn’t mean it. She has a tendency to speak without thinking.”

“Oh, she kept her mouth shut _most_ admirably,” Cassandra said, dryly. “We’ll deal with the breach, then I’ll deal with your friend.”

The mage’s eyes went wide, and she looked appalled. “Please don’t hurt Coll,” she said, nearly begging now. “Do what you like to me, but don’t hurt her. Coll had nothing to do with this. I swear.”

“I thought you didn’t remember what happened,” Cassandra said.

“I _don’t_!” Kate exclaimed. “I remember talking to you at the bridge, and I remember walking along this path. But after that, it’s all a blank.” The mage shook her head, then added:

“Coll didn’t even want to come to Haven. And me, I just wanted…” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I wanted. But it wasn’t this.”

Cassandra pressed her lips together. For the past two days, she had been utterly convinced that Katerina Trevelyan of Ostwick was a murderer and a terrorist. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Cassandra liked it better when she was certain. But then, she thought, she liked it best when she was _correct_. And right now, Cassandra wasn’t sure what was true.

“We should move on,” Cassandra said. “If… or rather, _when_ you return, you may be present when I detain your friend for questioning. It’s for her own safety,” she added, when the mage looked like she’d protest. “If they think she’s an associate of yours, she may be in danger.”

“Oh,” Kate said softly. “I didn’t think of that. Is Robert in danger?”

“I don’t know,” Cassandra said. “We can look for him later. But first, we must close the sky. None of this matters if we cannot survive the day.”

“Has the fighting been very bad then?” the mage asked. She spoke softly, and sympathetically. For some reason, this annoyed Cassandra. Her teeth clicked together and she looked away sharply.

“Worse,” she said. “And the people need someone to blame.”

“Meaning me,” the mage said. Cassandra turned and stared at her.

“Just so,” she said, and then she walked on.

* * *

Usually, Kate ignored it when people gossiped about her. The Circle mages sometimes whispered about how she was a pampered aristocrat, given all sorts of special treatment because of her social station. As for the nobility, Kate had never yet attended a gathering where her magic was not referenced in some way. Sometimes people inquired about it in a polite, if ignorant way. Most of the time, however, the nobility looked down their nose at Kate with a sneer. They were never open about it, of course. The Trevelyans were too important for _that_ kind of snub. Kate’s aunts had always encouraged her to brush off any slights. The appearance of sensitivity was the ultimate show of weakness, they reminded her. Gossip couldn’t harm her unless she allowed it to.

However, in this case, gossip might literally kill her. The people of Haven had apparently conferred on the matter while Kate slept, and had concluded that she was guilty of murder. And not just any murder: they thought Kate had killed the Divine.

Not only that, but Kate was suspected of causing an explosion that killed every attendee of the Conclave, of ripping a hole in the sky, opening a gateway to the Fade, flooding the world with demons, and causing the mage-templar war to renew again in earnest.

Most damning of all, Kate had somehow survived when so many others had died. That was the reason Cassandra thought Kate was guilty: Kate had fallen out of the Fade with this blazing mark on her hand and she was alive.

Kate had to admit she probably would have thought the same in Cassandra’s place. But she knew herself, and she knew she hadn’t done these things. At least, she didn’t think she had.

 _Oh, Maker,_ she thought as they passed a corpse in the snow. _What if I did?_

No, Kate thought. She hadn’t. She wouldn’t. Whatever happened must have been an accident.

But Kate couldn’t remember what had happened. Looking back over her memories of the Conclave was like trying to read a partially burnt page. The remaining words and letters made little sense out of context. Kate remembered a woman, but the woman had glowed. That couldn’t be right. There had also been screaming. Maybe. Kate couldn’t quite remember now, and it physically hurt to try and recall anything more. It was like reaching for something that wasn’t there, and brushing her fingers along sharp needles instead.

Could she have been possessed, Kate wondered? The thought left her feeling even more shaken. If she had been possessed, perhaps she had done this Veil-tearing thing at a demon’s behest.

But Kate certainly didn’t feel possessed. Wouldn’t she be able to sense an extra passenger inside? Right now, Kate most just felt achy and confused and fearful - and also rather hungry. Besides, Kate thought, she wasn’t a powerful enough mage to tear open the Veil all by herself, even if a demon had forced her to do so. The magic involved in the explosion must have come from some other source. So maybe there had been some fight in the Conclave and she had been caught in the middle. Maybe someone summoned some magic and…

 _Oh, Kate stop,_ she told herself as they neared the next bridge. She wanted these questions answered, but now was clearly not the time for speculation. The immediate problem was the breach. Kate needed to close the hole in the Veil, then find Robert and Coll and the others. And hopefully, Kate’s captors would be so grateful for her help that they would let her go. Or maybe they would be grateful enough not to hang her without a trial. And not to torture her. That would be good. That would be very good.

Though really, Kate thought, even if she _did_ die, she had to see this done. As a mage, she knew very well what lurked in the Fade. There were beautiful, helpful spirits there, but they rarely crossed over from the other side. It was the demons who sought entry into this world. The bodies on the path were proof enough of _that_. Kate had to get that breach closed, if she possibly could.

They came to the stone bridge. Beyond, in the distance, Kate saw the remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. At least, that’s what she thought it was. It didn’t look like any sort of temple. Instead, the ruin reminded Kate of the Black City.

Kate shivered. Where had that thought come from?

“Move along,” Seeker Cassandra snapped at her. Kate fell in line behind the woman, looking nervously at the breach ahead. The pillar of light was enormous, and Kate felt her heart stutter within her.

It occurred to Kate that the Seeker - that everyone in Haven - had no clue what if this would work. They were grasping at straws. And Kate was the proverbial _last_ straw.

But before Kate could take the metaphor any further, a blob of green came flying out of the sky. It smashed into the bridge before them. The ground under her feet dropped away, there was the sound of screams, and Kate pitched forward into nothing.

* * *

Cullen slashed at the demon before him. He didn’t flinch when its blood sprayed over the top of his shield and across his face. The thing shrieked - an almost human sound from a truly inhuman body - and then it fell.

Cullen rolled his shoulders back. His arms ached. His every nerve felt pulled tight, but there was nothing to do but grit his teeth and prepare himself for the next wave.

How many days had they been at this? Three? Four? It hardly mattered now. With the prisoner unresponsive and rifts pouring demons all along the Pilgrim’s Path, they’d be routed soon enough. Cullen had stationed himself at the rift in the temple courtyard. Rylen had the one at the other end of the forward camp, and no one had heard from the soldiers at the old gatehouse since morning. They were probably dead, Cullen thought grimly. All of them would be dead soon, if something didn’t change.

Cullen shoved that thought aside. He might fear this was the end - for himself, for his men, possibly for the world - but he could not show that fear. He turned his attention to the remaining soldiers, making a quick assessment of the casualties. That was two down, one wounded. Cullen sighed in resignation and started toward the wounded man. As he did so, a female soldier came running through the doorway that led down to the forward camp.

“Ser!” the woman shouted. Cullen held up a hand to stall her while he dealt with the wounded soldier.

“Get this fellow to the healers,” he said to a soldier standing nearby.

“Already been to the healers twice,” the wounded man said, gritting his teeth. “The Dalish told me if I came back again, she was going to smack me upside the head.”

Cullen frowned at that. In addition to all the other supplies they lacked, it seemed Haven was also short on healers with any bedside manners.

“Count yourself lucky to be alive,” Cullen told the lad. To another waiting soldier, Cullen said, “Wake Morris. It’s time for him to take a turn at the demons again.”

It was truly a testament to how brutal this fight was that even Morris had flagged at last. Cullen wished he could let the fellow rest longer, but they would need the reinforcement. Cullen then turned his attention back to the messenger.

“What’s the situation?” he asked her.

“They need you to retake the temple, ser,” she said, pointing back through the doorway from which she’d come. “Lady Cassandra wants the way cleared.”

Cullen cocked his head to one side and scowled at her. “What?”

“They want you to retake the temple,” the woman repeated, a little more nervously this time.

“What do they think we’ve been doing?” he snapped. He then let out a huff when the woman blanched.

“Look,” he said, trying to even his tone a bit, “I have no idea what the center of the temple looks like. We’ve barely kept this rift contained. Leliana’s scouts went to take a look from the other side, but unless they’ve reported in…”

“They’re missing, ser,” the woman said.

Cullen shook his head. “My men can’t hold the temple,” he told the soldier. “They’re exhausted.”

“But they need it cleared at once,” the woman pressed. “They have the prisoner just down the hill, and she…”

“The prisoner woke?” Cullen said, his head snapping up. “Did she talk?”

“She doesn’t remember anything,” the woman replied.

Cullen’s lips set in a thin line. “Of course not,” he murmured.

 _That_ was entirely too convenient. Still, at least the prisoner was alive and awake. The truth would come to light, even if they had to extract it from her. It was an unpleasant thought, but desperate times and all that.

“They need the way cleared,” the woman continued. “Lady Cassandra and Leliana think the woman may be able to close the breach.”

“May be?” Cullen raised his brow. “They’re asking me to risk my men on a _maybe_?”

“I…well…” the woman flinched. “They did say if she tries to close the breach, it might kill her instead.”

Cullen gritted his teeth. Wonderful. The woman remembered nothing. She _might_ be able to close the breach. Or maybe she’d just die.

But then Cullen remembered how the survivor’s hand had reacted to the breach just days ago. Maybe she could close it. He hoped she could, anyhow.

“Send word back that we’ll do it,” he told the messenger. He looked up and spotted Morris, who wandered through the doorway with his greatsword on his shoulder. Morris looked around, yawned, and then asked:

“More demons, ser?”

Only Morris could be this calm after everything that had happened, Cullen thought. Or maybe the man was just too tired to care.

“Seems so,” Cullen said. “We need to clear the way…”

But he didn’t get to finish this thought. For at the same moment, the rift in the courtyard sparked and shivered. A moment later, more demons jumped up from the ground. They were the big kinds, too: demons of terror and despair.

 _Fitting,_ Cullen thought. And with a shout, he and Morris threw themselves into battle once more.

* * *

 _Well,_ Kate thought, as she rolled to a stop. She had hit rock bottom. Or ice bottom. Or whatever. She now lay on her face on a frozen river, and before her, Seeker Cassandra ran off to fight a demon that had come crashing down out of the sky.

Kate couldn’t quite believe it. That thing was a demon. She hadn’t seen demons since…

Well, since the battle at Ostwick, she supposed, but before that, the last time she’d seen one was during her Harrowing. Now _there_ was a memory. Kate didn’t see how things could get much worse than this.

But then, just to prove her wrong, a second demon bubbled out of the very ice, right in front of Kate’s face.

Well, Kate thought, apparently it _could_ get worse. Thank the Maker that she was a mage. At moments like this, she was glad that she was a living weapon. Kate reached for the Fade…

And she came back hissing and cursing, the mark on her hand sparking wildly.

“What the Void?”

Kate tried to cast a spell as the demon slid toward her. But she couldn’t seem to grab hold of the Fade at all. It was like trying to channel water through a pipe, only to have it spurt out every which way. But the demon was still coming for her, and as it closed in, Kate threw her hands in front of her face.

A flash of fire went up from her open palms. The demon shrunk back, then began bobbing away from her, burning as it went. Kate blinked after it in surprise.

 _Fire?_ She nearly laughed. Maker’s breath. She hadn’t cast a fire spell since she was an apprentice. In fact, that was the first spell she’d learned in class. Kate had quickly decided that ice suited her much better and never looked back. But apparently she was back to the basics.

Back to the basics?

Kate held out a hand, and after a moment’s concentration, lightning shot from her palm. It was a weak bolt, for most of the power from the Fade bled into the air around her. The bolt however, skewered the fleeing demon. Kate smiled in triumph. At least, she smiled until the demon spun around and charged her.

Oh, well, that was a bit stupid, Kate thought. She should have just let the thing run away. But then something caught her eye.

Over in the wreckage of the bridge, lay a staff. Kate couldn’t believe her eyes. It was a staff, just lying there.

 _Well,_ Kate thought. _That’s convenient._

She lunged for the staff and reached it just a moment before the demon got to her. She turned around and focused her will. The staff required no charge from the Fade. Rather, it channeled Kate’s innate power and shot out a bolt of ice.

It was a very weak bolt of ice, however. Evidently, there was a reason this staff had been abandoned.

The demon shrieked, more annoyed than damaged by the feeble blast. The creature slashed at her, and Kate barely got the end of the staff up in time to clumsily block the blow. She then tried to conjure up another bolt from the staff, but this one was even weaker than before. She was quite literally throwing snowballs at an attacking demon. It was ludicrous, really.

Damn it, Kate thought. This staff was a piece of junk. Of course, Kate had never practiced with staffs much, anyway. Ostwick mages only dusted off their staffs for ceremonial occasions. Staffs could be quite powerful in the right hands, but they required a great deal of attunement. There were also some fancy twirling techniques that had come out of Kirkwall - these apparently increased the power of the weapon. But Kate had only practiced the old-school style: aiming the stick at a target and coaxing a blast of elemental damage from the tip.

Evidently, Kate’s point-and-poke technique was somewhat lacking.

The demon lunged at Kate. She stupidly screamed and tried to block with the staff again. At the same time, a sword punched through the demon’s chest. The demon clenched its hands and wailed, then blew away as if a wind had carried it off. Kate found herself staring at Seeker Cassandra. The woman’s eyes were fierce, and she held up her shield and sword.

“Thank you,” Kate breathed. “That was…”

“Drop your weapon,” the Seeker snarled at her. “Now!”

Kate blinked, startled by the fury in the Seeker’s voice, as well as by the absurdity of the demand. Did the woman think Kate intended to use this staff on _her_? Clearly the Seeker had missed the snowball-versus-demon fight just now.

“Drop it!” the Seeker snapped again.

“Dropping it,” Kate said. She gingerly set the staff down on the ice and stood up with her hands in clear sight. The Seeker’s eyes narrowed. Kate licked her lips.

“But,” Kate added, nervously, “My magic seems to be a bit, er, off. I can’t cast spells very well at present…”

“You do not need to cast anything,” Cassandra told her. “And you do not need a weapon.”

Kate gave a spurt of hysterical laughter, then quickly caught herself when the Seeker frowned. “I, um…” she stopped there, then said, as politely as she could:

“Very well. If you think you can get me up to the breach in one piece, I trust you to do so.”

Kate _didn’t_ trust the Seeker, but she also didn’t have much of a choice. Kate folded her hands and waited for Cassandra to say something. There was a long pause, and then the Seeker sighed.

“Fine,” Cassandra muttered. “Take the staff.”

“Oh,” Kate blinked. “Well, if you’re sure…”

“I’m not sure,” Cassandra muttered. “But we need to reach the breach. Avoid fighting if you can. I do not want to lose another Trevelyan on this mountain.”

“What did you say?” Kate asked.

“Nothing,” the woman snarled. “Just stay behind me and let me be your shield.”

Now _that_ seemed a sound strategy.

“Gladly,” Kate replied, and she followed the Seeker up the hill.

* * *

There was no good strategy for holding the temple, Cullen reflected. For every demon they killed, another took its place. It wouldn’t be long now, Cullen thought. Either the prisoner would arrive, or they would all die waiting for her.

Looking up, Cullen saw a demon closing in on Morris. Morris didn’t seem to notice. Maybe he was too tired to notice. They were all too tired. As Cullen ran for his fellow soldier, the ground began to bubble like hot tar. Before Cullen could cross the battlefield, a demon jumped out of the earth before him, knocking Cullen onto his back. For a moment, Cullen’s vision went fuzzy, and all he could see was a gaping mouth full of teeth.

He tried to rise, but spindly arms held him fast. He tried to raise his shield, his sword - nothing. Cullen kicked, and the sole of his foot connected with the solid underbelly of the demon. It made a crunching sound, as if he had stepped on a large insect. The thing stumbled back, screaming, but at the same moment, another demon appeared behind it.

 _Too many,_ Cullen thought. Too many demons, and too few soldiers. Cullen had lost sight of Morris, and was now fighting on his own. He clambered to his feet, then heard a shriek behind him.

That made three demons, Cullen realized. Three demons against Cullen alone. The third demon then leaped out of the ground, it knocked Cullen onto his face. As the ground came rushing toward him, Cullen realized this might well be the end.

* * *

This wasn’t a temple, Kate thought, as she came running through the door to the courtyard. This was a grave. There were bodies everywhere in the rubble, indistinguishable except for their gear. She saw leather scout armor here, heavy armor there, even the blue-and-silver stripes of a Grey Warden.

 _Maker, let Robert be alive,_ Kate silently prayed. But she couldn’t stop and look for him now. The breach loomed ahead, larger and louder than ever. She realized now that it made a sort of roaring sound, like the sea. She’d heard it far off, but thought it was the general rumble of battle, or maybe just her ears ringing.

Now, however, she could tell it was the breach. The thing cast a sickly glow over all the battlefield before them. A rift in the center of the courtyard sparked and shone. There were a great many demons, but Kate only spotted two soldiers left standing. They were overwhelmed, she realized.

Beside her, Kate’s companions seemed to realize this as well. Though Kate had only just met this elf and dwarf on her way up the mountain, she was already inclined to rely on them. There was nothing like the prospect of sudden death to forge alliances.

“Ah, shit!” Varric Tethras said, “That’s Curly in there.”

Kate had no idea who ‘Curly’ was, but when Cassandra shouted, “Hurry!” Kate didn’t hesitate. Kate charged with the others. But then Kate saw a blond soldier fall as a demon sprang up behind him. He needed help immediately, Kate thought, and the others wouldn’t reach him in time.

She needed her magic, Kate realized. She couldn’t simply rely on the soldiers to protect her, not when the soldiers themselves needed help.

Steeling herself against the pain, Kate reached for the Fade. Yet again, she came back with nothing but pain. The mark on her hand sparked, slicing into her palm like a knife. This time, Kate managed not to scream aloud. She only whimpered. Maker take it, how was she supposed to cast? If she couldn’t draw from the Fade…

She’d have to draw from her own reserves, Kate realized. Blast it, she’d never had much power on her own. _Better make it good then,_ Kate thought. She sucked in a deep breath, steeling herself for the plunge, then delved down inside of herself. Her own power was a thin, reedy sort of thing, but Kate took hold of it all the same. She narrowed her eyes, concentrating her attention on the point just beyond the rift.

Kate shot forward, the world around her blurring as she stepped through the Fade to the other side of the field. She shot past Cassandra, past Solas and Varric, right toward the mass of demons. But instead of stopping, Kate shot right _through_ their bodies. Kate skidded to a stop just past the rift, then lost her balance and fell forward onto her hands and knees. She looked over her shoulder to find that the demons had all frozen to ice behind her.

Kate laughed in triumph. Now _that_ was more like her old magic. Kate rose to her feet, reached for for her own mana again…

And this time she came back with nothing it at all. She had entirely exhausted herself. _On one spell, too,_ she thought in annoyance. This was what came of relying overmuch on one’s affinity for the Fade. Now Kate only had a little energy left inside of her, enough for possibly a low-level spell or two. She hoped that would suffice.

Then again, Kate thought, it seemed her help was no longer needed. The golden-haired soldier lunged to his feet, smashing into the frozen demons with a fury.

Kate blinked. Well, _that_ was impressive.

On the other end of the courtyard, Cassandra fought like a fire, dancing and turning in entirely unexpected ways. But this fellow, with his shining armor and golden hair, reminded Kate of a rock slide. There was no stopping him once he got moving. Even so, Kate saw that the man was still fighting alone. Behind him, a green, ghostlike shape dove out of the sky.

“Watch out!” she shouted. At the same moment, she reached out her hand. A feeble blast of fire shot from her fingers. The flare passed right before the soldier’s face. He lurched back with a start as the spell hit the creature. Then turned his startled gaze to Kate. His eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open a little.

“You!” he cried.

* * *

Cullen just stared for a moment, completely stunned. First his eyebrows had nearly been singed off, and now he found himself gazing at the mage who had cast the wild spell.

It was the prisoner, or survivor, or whatever she was. A moment before, she’d gone flying into the demons, chilling the air and turning everything to ice. He hadn’t gotten a good look at her then. He’d been more concerned with killing those demons. But with them dead and the wraith temporarily stunned, Cullen allowed himself a moment.

The woman wore the same tattered armor as before, and had the same short, fire-red hair. If that wasn’t enough to identify her, her left hand sparked with green light. Cullen had bandaged that hand just days before.

The woman’s eyes went wide and she pointed.

“Behind you!” she shouted.

Cullen spun around as the wraith charged him a second time. He blocked it with his shield, then slashed it in two. At the same time, he felt a barrier spell wash over him.

Well, that was more helpful than the careless fireballs, Cullen thought wryly. Though the mage’s first spell had been most helpful of all. Cullen wasn’t fond of battles where magic was involved, truth be told. Spells were notoriously unpredictable. But in this case, he’d take all the help he could get.

“Freeze them again!” Cullen ordered the mage.

“I can’t,” the mage shouted back. She didn’t bother to explain why, and there wasn’t time anyhow. The final terror demon charged at Cullen from across the field. He managed to block it in time, and the barrier spell kept off the worst of it’s slashing claws. The mage cast another spell - a feeble blast of lightning that stunned the demon for a split second before it recovered itself. Cullen fought on, and with three more strikes, the demon was dead. Cullen looked up to see that Cassandra was helping Morris to his feet. Varric looked around for more demons to kill, and the bald elf was staring intently at the rift, his eyes narrowed.

At that same moment, rift had begun to spark once more.

 _Not again,_ Cullen thought, wearily. He was tired of this fighting. But at least they had greater numbers on their side now.

“Close the rift!” the bald elf shouted from across the field.

 _I’d like to,_ Cullen was about to shout back, when the most astonishing thing happened. The prisoner ran forward and held out her glowing hand.

Cullen blinked. Days before, he’d seen this, where green lightning went sparking from her hand into the rift. But this time, the woman wasn’t unconscious. The mage held hand up to the sky, her face scrunched in concentration. The light coursed from her hand to the rift and back again, her arm quivering with the strain of it. Then with one great yank, she pulled her hand back. A burst of light filled the air, and she stumbled to one knee. When the light dimmed and the booming sound faded, Cullen found himself staring at her.

The prisoner had sealed the rift.

Cullen shook his head. She had sealed the rift.

Cullen’s chest seemed to lighten, as if his armor was no longer so heavy. He hardly dared to hope, but it seemed the tide had turned. Maker be praised, he thought. They might actually live through this.

* * *

Maker, Kate hoped she lived through this. Each time she closed a rift, she felt like her heart was going to explode from the strain. Kneeling on the stones, Kate grabbed her left wrist with her right hand and flexed her fingers. Blood trickled down her wrist and into her sleeve.

The first rift they had encountered had been the worst, Kate thought. Along the path, she and Cassandra had stumbled upon a battle. There had been demons pouring out of a rift, just as Cassandra had said. Cassandra and Kate helped kill the demons - or rather, Kate had mostly cowered and tried to cast a feeble spell or two and Cassandra had fought like a whirlwind. Then, just as the battle ended, a bald elf had suddenly grabbed Kate by the wrist. He had held up her hand, and green lightning had gone shooting from Kate’s palm into the rift.

Kate had felt like her arm was going to burn off. She had tried to pull away, but the elf was surprisingly strong. And then, when Kate had been sure she could endure the pain no longer, the rift had snapped shut. It was like a kernel of corn popping, only in the reverse. One moment, there had been this puffy, exploded thing in the sky, and then it had snapped up into itself and disappeared entirely.

This rift had done the same. That was good, Kate told herself. However, it had hurt much worse than the last rift, and that was rather bad. Kate held out her hand to survey the damage done. It looked as though a giant ember had landed in the center of her palm and charred the skin. When all this was done - assuming she survived - she was going to have quite the scar.

Just then, a boot appeared before Kate. It was joined by another boot a moment later. They were big boots, Kate thought. She lifted her head.

The boots belonged to the golden-haired soldier. He gazed down at her, his grim face splashed with blood. His eyes were red-rimmed and wary. Up close, he looked even more imposing than from across the battlefield. The man wore a fur mantle about his shoulders, which only contributed to his general impression of being massive and armored and dangerous. He looked like a bear, Kate thought. A grumpy bear, she amended. He frowned at her in a most intimidating way.

“Hello,” Kate said, nervously. When the bear-soldier said nothing, she added, “I’m sorry. Too much fire and not enough ice. My spells are a little off right now. I think it’s the mark.”

The man’s brows drew together slightly. Kate realized she was babbling and shut her mouth at once. She tried to stand, but found her feet were still unsteady.

“It’s fine,” the bear-soldier said, his voice so low that Kate almost missed it. “Anyhow, we lived.”

“For now,” Kate reminded him.

The man’s lips thinned. “Indeed,” he said. Then he held his hand out to her.

Kate hesitated, but then her manners kicked in and she took his right hand with her left. The soldier hauled her to her feet, but no sooner had he done so than her palm sparked and flashed. It was a good thing that the bear-soldier was wearing gloves, Kate supposed, or he might have been burned as well. He dropped Kate’s hand at once. For her part, Kate barely managed to keep from swearing aloud. She bit her lip and flexed her fingers instead.

“That got worse,” the bear-soldier observed, nodding at her hand.

Before Kate could ask him what he meant, Cassandra came striding over.

“Commander Cullen,” the Seeker said, nodding curtly.

“Lady Cassandra,” the soldier returned. “You managed to close the rift. Well done.”

Cassandra gave a sigh and waved a hand at Kate.

“That was the prisoner’s doing,” the Seeker said. “She is the one with the mark.”

* * *

 _Yes, well obviously,_ Cullen thought. He had meant ‘you’ in the plural sense. Clearly the mage had closed the rift, but Cassandra had managed to get the woman on her feet and helping.

It really was remarkable, Cullen thought, staring again at the mage. The last time he’d seen the prisoner, she’d been dirty and and nearly dead. She was still dirty, actually - possibly more so than before. Her face was spattered with blood and she looked like she was ready to faint. In that respect, she looked the same as she had three days ago. And yet, there was something entirely different about her now.

It was her eyes, Cullen thought. They were open for a start. But more than that, her eyes seemed to shine. She did not appear fearful, but rather, she seemed focused. Accordingly, Cullen’s esteem of her rose a notch. Few mages would willingly throw themselves into a battle with demons. Cullen supposed time would tell if she was truly on their side.

Enough of that, Cullen thought, drawing himself up stiffly. He didn’t have time to evaluate the prisoner’s eyes or abilities or intentions. If she lived to close the breach, then they’d have plenty of time to figure her out.

* * *

Kate tried not to flinch or blush as the soldier stared at her. No doubt the man was imagining a noose around her neck, just like everyone else in Haven.

“So you’re the prisoner,” the bear-soldier said after a moment. Kate wasn’t sure if he was talking mostly to himself, or actually trying to address her, but she responded anyway.

“Kate,” she said, politely as she could. “Please call me ‘Kate.’”

The soldier just blinked at her, his face impassive.

“Though ‘the prisoner’ works as well,” Kate muttered.

She immediately regretted her flippant words. Kate cleared her throat and attempted a more civil tone.

“I suppose introductions can wait until later,” she said. “We need to deal with _that_ first.” She nodded at the breach, but the soldier’s eyes did not leave her face.

“I understand you remember nothing of the explosion,” he said, his voice stern. Kate guessed he didn’t believe her any more than anyone else had.

“I don’t,” she sighed. “I’m very sorry. I wish I did.”

“Hmm,” the bear-soldier said, his eyes narrowing. “Well, have a care in there. The last thing we need is for you to get possessed.”

Kate only just managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes. What the average soldier knew about possession could fit into a thimble, she thought in annoyance.

“Thank you for your concern, ser,” she replied in clipped tones, “but I believe I’ll be fine.”

The bear-soldier looked even more displeased than before.

“If I had a sovereign for every time I heard a mage say that,” he muttered. But then Solas cut in:

“The mark she bears will keep demons at bay,” the elf said. “It will repel attacks upon her mind. You need not fear that she will be possessed.”

The bear-soldier’s stern gaze shifted from Kate to the elf. Cassandra also looked doubtful.

“Are you sure about that?” the Seeker asked.

“I am,” Solas replied.

“Well,” Kate said, sarcastically. “That’s good news. So if I die, it’ll be from the mark and not possession.”

“Silver linings,” the bear-soldier agreed, dryly.

Kate nearly laughed aloud. It was hardly the time or place for such dark humor, but somehow, it helped. And maybe it was her imagination, but the man’s face now didn’t look so grim. It wasn’t anything like a smile. But now he didn’t look quite so much like a bear, either.

* * *

Cullen almost chuckled at the mage’s words. Gallows humor and all that. Of course, he didn’t actually laugh. It was hard to find the situation amusing when they had lost so many. At that thought, Cullen felt his heart sink again. No, there was nothing funny about this situation at all.

“We lost hundreds of people on this mountain,” Cullen told them - all of them, for he felt Varric ought to know it, too. “A dozen of my soldiers died just this morning, retaking the temple. If you want to make their sacrifice worthwhile, then seal that breach.”

Varric nodded solemnly, as did Cassandra. The bald elf made no movement whatsoever. The mage, however, glanced around the courtyard, then turned back to Cullen with a frown. And in her eyes, Cullen now saw sorrow and something else - sympathy, perhaps?

“For your soldiers then,” the prisoner said.

Cullen nodded. The thought occurred to him that if this worked, if the mage could seal the breach, then his remaining soldiers could finally rest. For that reason alone, he hoped she would succeed.

“For our soldiers,” he agreed.


	15. Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate wakes to find strange elves in her room.

Kate’s eyes opened slowly. She lingered in the hazy state between sleep and waking, too groggy to move, too comfortable to care. Her eyes roamed up the wooden wall beside her bed, noting the knots in the planks, the rough spliters that some carpenter had failed to smooth away. Several pelts hung on the wall, giving the whole place a rustic, Ferelden sort of look.

Wait. Ferelden? Kate blinked. She was _in_ Ferelden, wasn’t she? At the thought, streams of memory came trickling back into Kate’s mind. She recalled the breach, the fight with a demon, the ensuing blast. She remembered that she was supposed to remember more. But she remembered nothing of the Conclave itself - and that had gotten her into trouble with a Seeker, hadn’t it?

Oh dear, yes it had.

A movement caught Kate’s attention. Kate turned her head to see a pair of large eyes staring at her. Kate sat up in surprise. Likewise, the elf attached to those eyes cried “Oh!” There as a crash then, as an entire crate of elfroot potions went smashing to the floor. The elf jumped back in alarm, looking rather like a grasshopper as she did so.

“Oi!” Kate hear someone call from the other side of the room. “That’d better not be another batch of elfroot potions broken.”

“I’m sorry!” the elf cried, nearly a wail, really. “I didn’t know she was awake, I swear!”

“It’s alright,” Kate said, reaching out a hand. “I didn’t…”

“Kate?” a familiar voice cried.

“Coll?”

A flurry of black braids and tattoos came flying across the room. Coll launched herself at Kate and threw her arms around Kate’s neck. The skinny elf stared at them with wide eyes.

“T-that’s wrong, isn’t it?” the skinny elf murmured to herself, looking utterly distraught. “It’s wrong to touch the Herald.”

Coll ignored that. She squeezed Kate fiercely, making Kate’s ribs hurt for a moment. Then, with a great sniff, Coll drew back, tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Coll,” Kate said, with sympathy. “What’s wrong?”

Coll responded by punching Kate in the shoulder - _hard_.

“Ow!” Kate exclaimed, rubbing her arm. “What was that for?”

“Yeh bleedin’ tick!” Coll cried, waving a hand in Kate’s face. “ _Emma enfanim ma dar din’an!_ So help me, Kate, next you go muckin’ about with the Fade, gettin’ dragged to me conked out and half-dead, you’re gonna wake with a bottle of elfroot shoved up your arse!”

Kate laughed at this threat, but the skinny elf gasped.

“Y-you shouldn’t speak that way, Mistress Coll,” the elf protested. To Kate, she bowed and said, “We must beg your forgiveness, and your blessing, my lady. We are but humble servants…”

 _That_ made Coll’s tears dry up rather quickly, Kate noticed.

“Oi!” the Dalish snapped, “Speak for yerself. I’m no servant.”

“B-but she saved us,” the skinny elf went on. “We owe her our very lives. The breach stopped glowing, just like the mark on her hand.”

“It did?” Kate asked, her head snapping up.

Out of curiousity, Kate looked down at her palm. It was true, she saw. The mark was no longer spitting and sparking, though she did have a grisly-looking scar there. And, Kate realized, if she concentrated, she almost thought she could see the mark glowing through her skin - as if she could control it a little?

No, she thought, turning her hand over. It must just be a trick of the light. She couldn’t manage this thing at all.

“What _is_ it?” she murmured to herself. When she looked up, she found Coll had a strange expression on her face.

“What?” Kate asked. Coll jerked her head at the skinny elf, as if to say ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’

“I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know she’s wakened,” the skinny elf said, pointing at the door. “She said, ‘at once.’”

”‘At once,’ is it?” Coll asked. “Well, get on with you then. Go tell the Seeker _at once_.”

“B-but,” the elf said, backing away with jerky movements, “Lady Cassandra is waiting in the ch-Chantry. ‘At once,’ she said.”

“Kate’ll go when she’s good and ready,” Coll snapped. “Besides. She needs her healer to check her hand, make sure she’s alright.”

The strange elf stared at them both, evidently unable to comprehend how anyone - least of all a Dalish - would dare to keep a Seeker waiting.

“I’ll be along shortly,” Kate assured her.

The elf backed away one more step, then turned and fled. The moment the door shut, Coll rolled her eyes.

“Ach,” she groaned, “that little chancer creeps me out. Always droppin’ potions on the floor, eyes everywhere but on your face.”

“Mistress Coll, is it?” Kate asked, her lips twitching.

”‘High priestess of flesh wounds’ was taken,” Coll said. Though she waved a hand dismissively, Kate heard the pride in Coll’s tone.

“Speakin’ of which,” Coll went on, “I wasn’t jokin’ about checkin’ you over. Gimme your hand.”

Kate held her hand out, allowing Coll to poke at her palm.

“Raw job, surely,” Coll muttered. “All that scar tissue won’t never go away.”

“At the moment, I’m simply grateful that I still _have_ a hand,” Kate pointed out. “There was a moment I thought I might lose it.”

“You almost did,” Coll said, all grim seriousness.

“Oh,” Kate said, cringing at the thought. She paused, then added, ““I’m glad you’re safe, Coll.”

Coll just shrugged. “I’m too pretty to die.”

Kate smiled at that, but then she frowned.

“Speaking of dying…”

Wait, that sounded rather morbid. Kate tried again:

“Where is Robert?” Kate asked, both wanting and dreading an answer. “Did the Seeker ever find him?”

“Ah, so she _was_ lookin’ fer him?” Coll smirked, still examining Kate’s hand. “Well, good on Robbie-boy then.”

“What?” Kate asked, confused.

“Last I saw Robbie,” Coll went on, “He went running up the mountain. Lookin’ for you.”

Kate’s felt her insides go cold. “So where is he now?”

“Dunno,” Coll said. She let go of Kate’s hand, reached for the box of dropped potions, and drew out a small bottle. She pulled the stopper and the strong, leafy smell of elfroot filled the room.

“Maker’s breath,” Kate murmured, looking to the door. “I hope he’s alright.”

“Eh,” Coll said, daubing the murky-looking poultice on Kate’s hand. “Don’t you worry, Kate. Crazy shem like your cousin should be fine. His kind always have more luck than sense. Anyhow, I was watchin’ all the bodies and no one brought in a corpse that height. You’d have to trim that boy at the knees to get him to fit into one of those pyre-bags.”

Kate’s stomach churned. “That’s not reassuring, Coll,” she said.

“Sure it is,” Coll shrugged, sticking the stopper back in the bottle. “Robbie’s probably flirtin’ with some soldier just now. You should worry about yerself, Kate. You’ve got bigger problems before ye.”

“Why?” Kate asked. “I thought the breach was shut.”

“It’s shut,” Coll agreed. “Sort of. It’s not gone. It’s not shut _tight_. But it’ll hold for now.”

“Well there’s some good news,” Kate sighed.

”‘Tis,” Coll agreed. “Not that you’d know it was shut from the way that Seeker keeps stormin’ about.”

“Is Cassandra still angry with me?” Kate asked, cringing.

“More angry with _me_ , I expect,” Coll snorted.

“Why?” Kate asked. “What did you do? She seemed upset when I mentioned your name.”

“Stompin’ like a saddled halla, she was,” Coll said, rolling her eyes at Kate. “I lied ‘bout knowin’ ye so I could stay near and keep an eye on you.‘”

“Oh…” Kate blinked. “Well. Thank you, Coll.”

“Don’t mention it,” Coll said, “and next time you go chattin’ up a Seeker, feel free not to mention me at all, will yeh?”

“Sorry,” Kate said.

”‘Tis alright,” Coll replied. “Just tell me, Kate. What happened up there?”

“Up there?” Kate repeated. “When we closed the breach? Or before?”

“Before, of course,” Coll said. She glanced over her shoulder, as if checking to make sure the room was still empty.

“I don’t remember,” Kate said with a sigh.

“What really?” Coll said, frowning. “I know you _said_ you didn’t remember anythin’, but I thought for sure that was you tellin’ tales.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Kate said, scowling. “Maker’s breath, I know Cassandra and the others don’t believe me, but I hoped you would.”

Coll’s dark brows furrowed. “You really don’t remember?”

“I don’t, truly,” Kate said, sighing. “It’s like part of my memory got blasted away with the temple explosion. Actually,” she added, softly, “I don’t know if it was the explosion that tore up my memory. It could have happened before - or after? It’s all a blank somewhere beyond that first bridge. I’m sorry.”

Coll snorted, shaking her head. “What in feck are _you_ apologizin’ for? You say you didn’t do it, I believe ye. You were always shite at lyin’, anyway. Maybe I should tell ‘em that.”

“Maybe you should,” Kate agreed.

“Nah,” Coll said, “Doesn’t matter what you say anymore, Kate. These shems have made up their own story. And it’s a doozy. You’re gonna hate it, knowin’ you.”

“Oh no,” Kate cringed. “What is it?”

Coll just raised a brow in a ‘do you really want to hear this?’ sort of look. Kate felt even more sick.

“What?” she said, shuddering. “I thought closing the breach would change their minds.”

“Oh, they changed their minds, they did,” Coll laughed “You shut that breach tight as a Chantry sister’s arse on a stone cold pew. And they’re dead grateful, they are.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Kate wanted to know.

“Yeh fell out of the Fade, Kate,” Coll exclaimed. “The place where your Maker lives, yeah? And there was a woman in the rift behind you. And now somethin’ about a vision with the Divine callin’ for help…”

“A vision,” Kate repeated, remembering it now. Yes, there had been a vision of an old woman crying for help, but Kate hadn’t placed much stock in it. That had been some kind of echo flowing from the Fade. But everyone knew the Fade was a notoriously inaccurate place.

Then again, Kate realized, maybe they _didn’t_ know that. Only mages spent any time studying the Fade. The average person might take that vision as the Chant-sung truth.

”…and then some glowin’ lass shoves you out of a rift with that mark on your hand,” Coll continued. “So now, they all assume…”

Coll trailed off meaningfully.

“They assume what?” Kate asked. Coll paused for dramatic effect.

“Oh, for Andraste’s sake, Coll, spit it out,” Kate said, nervously.

“For Andraste’s sake, is it?” Coll said, arching a brow as a wry smile spread across her face. “Funny you should say that…”

* * *

“The Inquisition reborn,” Lieutenant Keran said, softly. He looked up at Cullen with his brows drawn. “I know we trained for this day, ser, but I never thought it would happen.”

“Not like this, anyhow,” Cullen agreed.

They stood at the edge of the training field and stared out at the lake before them. The wind picked up, smelling of snow and pine. It was a rather breezy place to train the troops, Cullen supposed, but it would have to do. It was, after all, the only spot of level ground in the whole of Haven.

The entire village was ill-suited to their needs, truthfully. The smithy was too small, the roads nearly impassible. But it was a beginning, Cullen told himself. The Inquisition had returned, and it would require a small army to fight back against the growing chaos around them. It was Cullen’s job to see that army assembled and equipped, to command them into whatever mission presented itself.

Yes, Cullen would be leading the troops, but he wasn’t sure who would be leading the Inquisition itself.

That was the uncertainty, Cullen reflected. The Divine had been the heart of the Inquisition. But now their center was gone. As soon as possible, they needed to find someone to fill the role of Inquisitor.

In the meantime, Cullen thought, they had a million questions in need of answers and a world on fire. Answers and buckets of water were both in short supply. In fact, the only thing that had gone right lately was that a strange mage with a mark had stumbled out of the Fade and shut the breach.

Of course, _that_ brought more complications than solutions.

“Have we secured the survivor’s support?” Cullen asked Keran.

“Um, not yet,” Keran replied.

Cullen grimaced. Well, he hoped the woman saw reason. It wasn’t as if they could let her go. With rifts opening all over the nearby valleys, they needed her mark. Besides, Cullen thought, a lone mage wouldn’t get very far

“Cassandra and Leliana are speaking to the Herald right now, ser,” Keran went on.

Cullen glanced over at him. “The Herald, is it?” he asked, arching a brow.

“Well,” Keran blushed. “That _is_ what they’re calling her.”

It was astonishing how quickly everyone had gone from assuming the mage was guilty to assuming she was a messenger of Andraste. Cullen suspected that Leliana had a hand in this sudden shift in popular opinion. For his part, Cullen was not fond of rumors, especially ones which preyed upon faith. But this was a rather desperate case, he supposed. And the rumor _might_ be true, in a sense. Their ‘herald’ had shown up exactly when they needed her.

Or a few days late, judging by the casualty reports, Cullen thought darkly.

“Are they done briefing the survivor?” Cullen asked.

“No, ser,” Keran replied.

“Any indication of how long the meeting will last?”

“None ser. They insisted on meeting privately. Even Chancellor Rodrick was asked to leave to leave the Chantry.”

“I’m sure he bore that slight with great fortitude,” Cullen said, his lips twitching. Keran blinked in confusion.

“I’m told he was quite annoyed, ser,” the officer said.

“Yes,” Cullen agreed. “That’s what I… Never mind. Was there anything else?”

“Yes, ser. Lady Cassandra plans to formally announce the Inquisition as the sun sets. She requests that you be there for a quick meeting beforehand. And she said something about wanting you to post the Divine’s writ on the Chantry door?”

Cullen snorted. “So the others make announcements and write letters and I’m reduced to putting nails through paper?”

Keran looked a bit bewildered.

“Fine,” Cullen shrugged. “I’m not as well-practiced with blunt weapons, but I think I can manage to wield a hammer.”

“Er, right,” Keran said, still little looking a bit confused.

“Anything else?” Cullen asked him.

“Leliana said our first task will be to secure the Hinterlands”

“Of course,” Cullen agreed. “You and Ruvena should go with Leliana’s scouts. Prepare whatever soldiers we have left.”

“That’s not many soldiers, ser,” Keran observed, quietly.

It wasn’t, Cullen thought. They would have to recruit more people and train them - and they would have to do it quickly, too. It was terrible, really, thinking of lives in this way, as if his soldiers were stones that must be replaced with other stones. But when one was building a wall to keep the tides of chaos at bay, then one did what one must. Cullen only hoped the stones held in the days to come.

“Alright then,” he said, turning back to his lists. “Let’s see who we have left.”

* * *

“I am glad you are joining us,” Cassandra said, nodding crisply as she led Kate to the door.

“You are?” Kate asked, before she could think better of it. “I mean, thank you,” she said, catching herself a moment later.

Leliana gave a little chuckle as they left the forward room of the Chantry. Cassandra, however, slanted a dark glance at Kate. It was looks like those that had made Kate question whether the Seeker truly _was_ glad that Kate had joined them.

“I _am_ glad,” Cassandra said, her tone as hard as ever. Really, Kate thought, the woman had a voice like the sound of hot steel being hammered at a forge.

“What Cassandra _means_ to say,” Leliana put in, “Is that we very much need your help. We are pleased to find you are our ally, and not our enemy. Clearly, we have enemies enough.”

Kate gave the spymaster a thin smile. Between the right and left hands of the Divine, Kate was feeling a bit squeezed. She also wondered if they were having second thoughts about asking her to join them.

Kate was having second thoughts. She had studied the first Inquisition in her Chantry history classes. The precursors to the Chantry had been a pretty ruthless lot, as she recalled. Kate had no intention of allowing that part of history to repeat itself. But these two - Cassandra and Leliana - they seemed reasonable. Not _nice,_ exactly - they didn’t seem remotely nice - but they seemed reasonable. At least they no longer were threatening to kill her, Kate thought. That was an improvement over their first meeting.

“In here,” the Seeker said.

Kate shivered as she came to join Cassandra. The Chantry was cool and clammy - like a crypt, really. The many candles did not make the place cheerier. Quite the opposite, in fact. But at the moment, Kate was grateful for the respite from the crowds.

Coll had warned her, but Kate hadn’t believed it until she saw it with her own eyes. The people of Haven had lined the streets to stare at Kate. It had completely terrified her. She kept expecting one of them - or all of them - to attack her at any moment. Just a few days ago, they’d hated her, thinking she’d killed the Divine. But now, they were in awe of her. Public opinion was a fickle as ever, Kate thought wryly.

Kate nearly stumbled on the uneven stones as she came to a halt beside Cassandra. The Seeker stood in a doorway.

“This is where you will stay,” Cassandra said. Kate entered the room and looked around, taking in three beds, a few chairs, books, and a wardrobe.

“This is my cell?” Kate asked.

“You are a prisoner no longer,” Leliana said, walking up beside Kate. “Let us make this perfectly clear: from this moment on, you are our partner in this endeavor.”

Kate was about to say that she had meant ‘cell’ as in a monk’s cell. It was a Chantry, after all, and so she’d tried to use the correct term for such a room. But Kate decided not to explain all this. She remained silent and Leliana went on:

“If people are to think you are the Herald,” the spymaster said, “then we must treat you as the Maker’s chosen. You will be shown respect, and you must command it from others, no?”

“No,” Kate said. “I mean, yes. I mean, of course.”

If she was going to command respect, Kate reflected, she was going to have to watch her step. And to that end, she should probably keep her mouth shut and think carefully about every word she said. It would be business as usual, Kate assured herself. Just like being back at home with the nobility.

Only the stakes were a little higher now, Kate reflected.

“You will stay with us,” Cassandra told Kate, nodding at the space before them.

Kate’s mouth dropped open a fraction. The right and left hands of the Divine were to be her roommates?

 _I guess that makes me the little spoon,_ Kate thought.

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing aloud. Clearly, fear was making her a bit hysterical. Instead, Kate folded her hands before her and said:

“How nice. I’m sure we’ll be very cozy.”

Amazingly, Kate managed to keep her voice steady - mostly. A note of amusement might have crept in there at the end.

“I do not sleep here,” Leliana said. “I have a tent just outside the Chantry. With my duties being what they are, I keep odd hours.”

“And Leliana is nocturnal,” Cassandra said. Kate smiled at the joke, then realized the Seeker was completely serious.

“That is Josephine’s space,” Cassandra said, waving a hand at one of the beds. “You will meet her soon enough. That bed is mine. And this space has been cleaned and…” She took a breath, then let it out very slowly.

“And now it shall be yours.”

“Oh,” Kate said, confused by the Seeker’s odd behavior. “I don’t mean to take someone else’s bed.”

Kate had to wonder who she was displacing, exactly. Another Seeker? That bear-soldier, perhaps? But no, Kate thought, the bear-soldier wouldn’t room with two other women, would he?

“It belongs to no one now,” Cassandra said, softly. “But before…” She sighed, then said, “It was where the Divine slept.”

“W-what?” Kate blanched. “I couldn’t…”

“She no longer requires it,” Cassandra interrupted. Kate sensed there was grief beneath those words.

“Yes, but…” Kate stared from one woman to the other, “Shouldn’t we turn it into a shrine or something?”

“The people of Haven have already tried to do so,” Cassandra said. Again, Kate thought the woman was jesting, then realized she was completely serious.

“Justinia wouldn’t have wanted that,” Leliana put in. “She would have wanted us to be practical and move on. And we can’t have you sleeping out in the cold.”

“I don’t see why not,” Kate replied. “Half the people of Haven are.”

“You _shall_ sleep here. It is expected,” Cassandra said, curtly, as if that should end the argument.

Kate pursed her lips. Apparently, the people of Haven got whatever they wanted. If they wanted her to sleep where the Divine slept, she would rest in a dead woman’s bed. If they wanted a Herald from Andraste, then Kate would be trotted out and made to look like one.

Kate frowned at the thought. Coll had been absolutely right: the shems had made up a doozy of a story.

“And now that you have a place to rest,” Leliana went on, her voice becoming suddenly cheerful and bright, “we must get you cleaned up a bit. You’ll soon be presented to the people of Haven, and you must look the part.”

Kate looked down at her torn clothing with a frown.

“We have new clothes for you and a wash basin,” Leliana went on, waving a hand at these items. “I have set out some of my makeup as well. Orlesian cosmetics, of course. We would not want our Herald to wear coarse Ferelden rouge.”

“I don’t wear rouge,” Kate said, distantly. She didn’t wear make-up in general, unless her mother insisted.

“You may want to today,” Leliana said, her eyes narrowing in consideration. “You look a touch pale. And perhaps your eyes…”

The spymaster cocked her head this way and that while studying Kate’s face, like a little bird looking at a shiny object. Kate just stared straight ahead, not really listening as Leliana went on about how Kate could best bring out her cheekbones. This entire ordeal now felt as though she was being trussed up for a family ball. Except instead of dressing up in a gown, Kate was being given something akin to light armor. Instead of being asked to charm a group of aristocrats, Kate was being asked to close rifts and give hope to traumatized soldiers and frightened farmers.

 _Maker,_ Kate thought. This was insane. It was like she was being handed a test that she had never studied for, asked to teach a class for which she didn’t know the subject matter. She was completely unprepared for any of this, Kate thought wildly. Until this week, she’d never traveled more than twenty miles from home. There was no way she could do this and _not_ fail.

 _One step at a time, Kate_ she told herself, trying to remember to breathe. _They just want you to close rifts. And before that, they want you to wash your face. You can manage that much._

She could, Kate thought, taking a breath. She could manage that much. One step at a time.

Kate calmed down enough to realize that Leliana was still going on about possible cosmetic scenarios. Cassandra, however, was growing increasingly impatient.

“We don’t need to paint her like some Orlesian courtier,” the Seeker cut in.

Kate thought this was rather strange statement, coming from someone who wore as much kohl around her eyes as she did armor upon her body.

“Josie went to great lengths to get something in her size,” Leliana said, frowning. “We must present her as an ally, not a prisoner. So really,” she added, turning back to the Kate, “the most important thing is that you look more…”

“Not dead,” Cassandra put in, flatly.

“Tactful as always, Cassandra,” Leliana said, wryly. “I was going to say ‘polished.’”

“Make up or no,” Cassandra went on, “we need you to show strength and confidence to the people of Haven. In one hour, I shall gather the crowds together. You will join us outside for the announcement of the Inquisition. Be prepared.”

“Prepared,” Kate repeated with a nod of her head. “Right.”

_One step at a time, Kate._

“I take my leave,” Leliana said, bowing slightly. “Herald.”

Kate didn’t know if she should call Leliana by her name, by the title ‘spymaster’ or ‘Nightingale’ or what. So she settled on, “um, bye” - and immediately felt like an idiot.

Kate was still inwardly cringing at her awkwardness when Cassandra moved to leave as well. But Kate held out a hand to stay the Seeker.

“Wait,” she said. Cassandra stopped and turned. Kate still felt as though her head was spinning, but one very important issue remained in her mind:

“Did you ever find out what happened to Robert?” Kate asked the Seeker. Maybe it was her imagination, but Kate thought she saw the Seeker flinch.

“I looked for him in the crowds outside,” Kate went on, her voice rising, “but he wasn’t there. You said you were going to ask around, and I wondered…”

Kate broke off as a regretful look fell over Cassandra’s face.

“Maker,” Kate muttered, guessing at once what that meant. “Is he…?”

Kate couldn’t finish that thought. Her stomach felt as though it had fallen through the floor.

“He is unaccounted for,” Cassandra said.

“Unaccounted for?” Kate repeated.

“We have not found definite remains,” Cassandra said, softly. “But many of the corpses were…” She swallowed and shook her head.

“We are recovering the bodies as best we can,” she said all in a rush. “When we have all the…parts…we will have a proper pyre and lay the ashes to rest. In Andraste’s name.”

Each word seemed to strike a nail into Kate’s heart:

 _Remains. Corpses. Ashes._ Parts.

“I see.” The words came out very small. “Thank you for telling me.”

“He may yet be found,” Cassandra said. She didn’t sound like she believed it. Kate wasn’t sure she believed it either. She knew Robert. The moment he heard she’d survived, he would have rushed to her side - just as she would do for him. That, more than anything else, convinced Kate that her cousin was gone.

Kate stared into the room, not really seeing it. Beside her, Cassandra opened her mouth as if to speak, but said nothing. The Seeker turned and left, shutting the door firmly. Kate stood in the room, feeling suddenly and utterly alone.

The enormity of it hit Kate square in the chest: the war, the Conclave, the mark, Robert gone - the fact that these people wanted her to be the Herald of Andraste.

Before they’d come here, Robert had asked Kate what she wanted. At the time, Kate had said she didn’t know. That was still true, Kate reflected. She still didn’t know. But she didn’t want this.

She didn’t want this.

 _One step at a time,_ she thought, desperately.

But for now, Kate could take no more steps. Her legs swayed under her and Kate let herself slump against the wall. She slid down the cold stones until she landed on the floor in a heap, tears tracking down her cheeks. Then, with the door closed and with thick walls about to muffle her sobs, Kate placed her head in her hands and began to weep.

* * *

There is nothing so jarring as dreaming in one manner, and waking to something else entirely.

Robert’s dream was lovely - a bit blurry around the edges, but it involved a great deal of smooth, olive-toned skin, and two smoldering, dark eyes. In the dream, Robert had been kissing his way up a well-muscled shoulder and toward a slender neck framed by short, dark hair. Though Robert couldn’t see her face, the dream-woman’s voice whispered to him, her accent driving him wild.

But then the woman’s words grew softer, fainter. Instead, Robert heard the sound of shouts and clanging. The woman’s skin grew cold, and as Robert reached for her, he instead woke suddenly. He found himself nuzzling his face against a damp, stone floor. Robert recoiled, only to find that his hands were tied behind his back. The only thing remaining from the dream was the sounds of battle. Robert heard a grunt, too, then a scream, and then, most terrifying of all - silence.

Robert stared into the darkness, trying to figure out where in the Void he was and how in the Void he had landed here. He grunted and tried to push himself up to a sitting position, only to find his legs were bound as well. He tugged at the rope, but someone definitely knew how to tie knots. At least he wasn’t gagged, Robert thought. It felt like he had sand in his mouth, however, and he wasn’t sure if screaming for help was going to improve his situation.

Alright, Robert thought, looking about. He’d gone from one of the best dreams ever to one of the worst mornings ever. And that was saying something. He’d had his share of shite mornings.

Then, all in a rush, Robert remembered: Freddy, Kate, Cassandra - all of it.

 _Freddy_ , Robert thought angrily. Robert would never, in a million years, have though Freddy Stanhope could become involved in… well, whatever it was he and his friends were up to. Freddy was now a glowing, kidnapping freak. How in Thedas had _that_ happened, Robert wondered?

No sooner had Robert thought this than footsteps echoed from somewhere straight ahead. Robert saw red lights glowing in the distance, as if from down a hallway. A moment later, voices echoed into the darkness.

“We need to move. They’ll send more scouts eventually, to see what happened to these ones.”

The glowing and the shadows were now solidifying into actual shapes. Robert saw a man-like shape kick something on the ground. Robert then realized it was a dead body. Robert’s eyes went wide and he made a small gasp. The man-shape turned to Robert, as did another man-shape. Robert recognized the second shape at once:

“Freddy?” he rasped.

“Trevelyan,” Freddy sneered. “You’re up.” He turned to the other glowing fellow and said, “Get them ready to move. We need to get out of here soon.”

“What’s going on?” Robert demanded, pulling at his wrists. “Where are we, Freddy?”

“In some mines not far from the breach,” Freddy replied easily, walking up to Robert and looking down at him with a nasty smile. “Why? Accommodations not quite to your lofty standards?”

Robert had no idea what Freddy’s game was, but he’d be damned if he let the man rattle him.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Robert shrugged. “Not exactly the wet caved I’d _hoped_ to wake in.” He grinned cheekily. That wiped the smug expression from Freddy’s face.

“You always did have the morals of an alley cat,” Freddy said, prudishly. “But you never knew discipline, did you, Trevelyan? Never knew true fortitude.”

“Actually, I’ve tried discipline,” Robert said, cocking his head and squinting at the ceiling. “And I dunno, that’s just too many props for me to keep track of. I prefer _losing_ clothing and accessories to strapping them on.”

Freddy sucked in a breath, his nostrils flaring. “Always so confident,” he growled. “Always making fun of everything and everyone, weren’t you? Well, not for much longer, Trevelyan. Not much longer.”

“Not much longer, Freddy?” Robert asked, mostly to keep the fellow talking. “You plan on killing me, then?”

Robert suspected that here were two possibilities here: either Freddy and his friends were going to kill Robert now, or they were going to torture him and _then_ kill him. Both scenarios seemed very unpleasant, so Robert decided to add in a third option: escape. To that end, he needed information. Perhaps, if he got Freddy angry enough, the fellow would reveal something useful.

“We planned to have you join us,” Freddy said, staring out at the door.

“As if I would,” Robert snorted.

“But with the breach closed,” Freddy went on, “with Kate alive, we had to change our plans.”

Robert’s jaw dropped open, his eyes widening.

“Kate’s alive?” he cried.

And the breach was closed. That meant Cassandra was alright. And Kate was alright. If he needed more of an incentive to escape Freddy and his creepy friends, Robert now had it.

“Yes, Kate’s alive,” Freddy sneered. “ _He_ wants to know why.”

“He?” Robert asked. “Your crazy templar boss is upset he didn’t get all the mages dead?”

“ _You_ will tell us why,” Freddy went on, glaring at Robert.

“Me?” Robert snorted. “I don’t even know what’s going on out there. I’ve been a bit, uh, _tied up_ , so to speak.”

Robert smiled at his own joke, rather pleased that he could still jest under such circumstances. Freddy seemed less than impressed. His glowing eyes remained blank and humorless.

“Tied up?” Robert asked, raising a brow. “Anything?” When Freddy remained immovable, Robert sighed. “Tell you what, Freddy, why don’t you let me go? Then I’ll walk out there, go find Kate, and ask her how she survived the blast.”

“As if you’d come back,” Freddy scoffed.

“Oh, I’d come back,” Robert said, eagerly. His tone hardened and he added: “I’d come back with Kate and let her kick your glowing arse down the mountain.”

As soon as the words left Robert’s mouth, he realized he probably should have played that a bit closer to the chest. But being tied up like this was not improving his tact. Then again, Robert had never had much self-control, even under the best of circumstances.

“You already know how she survived,” Freddy said, looking away, his gaze going unfocused. “Somehow, you know. You must. You came here with her. She must have told you her plans.”

“I know nothing,” Robert said. “All I know is that a former friend of mine has become a great glowing traitor.”

“She survived,” Freddy said, wonderingly. “She came back with…” he held out his hand, one crisscrossed with glowing veins.

Then he looked at Robert, and his gaze hardened into an expression of pure hate.

“What is it about you Trevelyans?” Freddy asked, his voice growing harsher than Robert had ever heard it. There was a sound under it, like stone grinding on stone, giving each consonant a nail-on-glass quality.

“Your whole family has it,” Freddy went on, nearly spitting his words. “The same good looks. The same deep pockets. And that…that _confidence_. It doesn’t matter which branch of the family you’re talking about. The Trevelyans enter the room and everyone knows it. When they open their mouths, everyone listens. You can see it in their eyes. You all think you’re better than anyone else.”

“Well, we are,” Robert said with a shrug.

“You see!” Freddy snarled. “You’re still doing it! You were terrible, Robert. You had every woman in your pocket - any friend you ever wanted. You made all the rest of us sick with envy. But Kate…” Freddy let his head drop forward, his mottled face twisting with longing. “Kate was the worst.”

“Kate?” Robert asked, truly taken aback. “Kate isn’t like the rest of the family at all.”

“No,” Freddy agreed. “She was more. Far more. She used to look at me and…” He shook his head, frowning. “There was something in her eyes, something you could see, but never understand. Like a joke she was about to tell, but never did.”

“I wanted to hear that joke,” Freddy scowled, as if he was a child denied a sweet. “I wanted _her_. So many of the lads wanted her. But I wanted her most of all.”

“That’s enough, Freddy,” Robert said, coldly. “That’s my cousin you’re talking about.”

“She smiled at me once,” Freddy said, wistfully. “The last time we danced, she smiled.”

“Shut it, Freddy,” Robert snapped. “Or I’ll vomit in your glowing face.”

“So pretty,” Freddy went on, wonderingly. “But so distant. I could never reach her. Only a few people ever got her smiling. You were one of them, Robert,” Freddy said, bitterly. “You could make her laugh. I used to hate you for that. I used to hate you for that more than anything.”

“You’re vile, Freddy.”

“It doesn’t matter anyhow,” Freddy sighed. “I never got that joke from her. She never let me close. But you were close. _You_ understood her. And that’s what we need now. That’s what _he_ needs.”

“What who needs?” Robert asked, recoiling. Maker help him, if Freddy had an even nastier friend hankering after Kate…

“He needs to know how she survived,” Freddy murmured, more to himself than to Robert. “He needs to know who she is, how she thinks. He needs to know her weaknesses. We have to give him that information. That’s the trade, you see. We sift _you_ , and then we understand _her_. And we receive the world in return.”

“Sift?” Robert repeated. That didn’t sound good. Probably templar-code for torture, Robert thought. Again, escape seemed the far better option.

“We can begin when we reach Therinfal Redoubt,” Freddy said, softly.

“Therinfal?” Robert asked, eagerly. There! That was a definite piece of information. Unfortunately, that information was bollocks, because while Robert knew that fortress was somewhere in Ferelden, he didn’t know where. He had never felt so foolish for skipping his geography lessons as he did now.

“The redoubt is a long way away, isn’t it?” Robert said, desperate to get more from the glowing templar. “Surely there’s no need to for us to go walking all that way. We can just stay here, enjoy the mountain air…”

“Oh,” Freddy said with a sneer, “Don’t worry. You won’t be _walking_ to Therinfal.”

Before Robert could ask what that meant, Freddy’s hand came at Robert from out of the dark. A foul-smelling cloth smothered Robert’s mouth and nose, and he could not turn away. Freddy’s glowing face began to dim, and Robert heard him whisper:

“Don’t worry, Trevelyan. He only wants sift your mind. If you don’t resist, you’ll never even notice that he’s in there.”

Robert’s last thought was that whatever else happened at the redoubt, he planned on resisting to the bitter end.


	16. The Inquisition Reborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate opens the door, and Cullen has to close it

Kate decided to join the Inquisition.

It happened sometime between the moment she collapsed on the floor crying, and the moment when the Chantry bells began to ring the sunset prayers. She couldn’t remember exactly when she made up her mind, but by the time she stood and began to dress, she had accepted her place in the Inquisition. To that end, Kate stopped chanting ‘ _one step at a time_.’ She instead told herself: ‘ _For Robert._ ‘

For Robert’s sake, Kate got up off the floor and got washed and dressed. For Robert’s sake, she said a prayer. And for Robert’s sake, she would do whatever else needed to be done.

Of course, Kate mused, if Robert were here, he would have teased her about all this. If he were here, he would have told her to at least honor him with some _style_. He would have poked her in the ribs, told her to stop being so mopey. He would have encouraged her to tell naughty joke in his honor, maybe pull a prank or two, and to move on. Kate chuckled at the thought.

She had no naughty jokes at the moment, and pranks seemed a bad idea, but at least she could get moving.

 _For Robert, then,_ she thought.

Kate exited her room and entered the nave. The air was still cool in the Chantry, and there was no one in sight. Kate supposed they were all outside, awaiting the announcement of the Inquisition.

_BAM._

A bang echoed out into the Chantry, starting at the doors and reverberating into the darkness. Kate jumped back a step, hand over her heart.

_BAM._

What in the Maker’s name was that, Kate wondered? For a moment, she was so startled, she completely forgot her previous train of thought. It sounded like someone had run face-first into the door. Or perhaps someone was knocking. Did the Fereldens knock before entering a Chantry? How odd.

_BAM._

And there it was again. Kate glanced over her shoulder, but found no one was there to answer it - or to explain what it was all about. Oh well. She needed to go outside anyhow. Might as well answer the Chantry door while she was at it.

 _It’s like I’m the Maker’s butler,_ Kate thought. Considering she was already Andraste’s Herald, Kate supposed this would be a lateral career change.

 _There’s a joke for you, Robert._ Even attempting to jest made Kate feel a pang of grief. But she pushed the door open all the same, drawling “Yes?” as she had heard her family’s footman do.

Kate broke off suddenly when she found the bear-soldier standing on the other side of the door. Behind him was a small crowd, and everyone was staring at her.

* * *

Here she was, Cullen thought. The Herald herself. And it didn’t seem as though she was expecting an audience.

He let his hammer drop to his side. Cassandra and Leliana had envisioned this writ-posting as a very dramatic thing - Cullen nailing the parchment to the door, the bells ringing - everything was to be done with pomp and grandeur. No one had expected the Herald to burst out of the door a moment later, completely ruining the tableau.

Cullen reached past her and pulled the door shut.

“If you please,” he said.

The woman opened her mouth as if to say something, but then she noticed the writ. She cocked her head as she quickly scanned the lines.

“This is it then?” she asked, turning suddenly to Cullen. It then occurred to Cullen that he’d been unintentionally staring at her while she read.

“This is the Divine’s plan?” the woman pressed. “The one she wrote up before the Conclave?”

“Yes,” Cullen replied.

“Well,” she said. “That does explain why you had so many soldiers at the ready. And in such a small village, too.”

Cullen supposed he should take that as a compliment of sorts. But before he could say anything in reply, a man in a silly-looking sunburst cap and a long cleric’s robe came striding out of the crowd. Roderick, Cullen thought with a groan. Even before the man opened his mouth and began to whine, Cullen was already turning away.

“You can’t _do_ this, commander,” the chancellor said, pointing at the door.

Cullen had long ago learned that the best way to deal with this cleric was to avoid dealing with him at all. Every interaction gave the chancellor a legitimacy he did not deserve.

“And yet, it’s done,” Cullen said, determined to keep this short.

“This will not stand,” the cleric said, his voice rising.

Beside Cullen, the Herald muttered under her breath: “Oh, I don’t know. The writ looks well hung to me.”

Cullen did a double take. The Herald hadn’t actually said that, had she? And surely she hadn’t meant it like _that_. But the private smile curling her lips seemed to suggest that she did. She looked out into the distance and murmured, “How’s that, Robert?”

Cullen had no idea who Robert was, nor why the Herald was making off-color jokes to people who weren’t there. Even so, Cullen had to bite back a laugh. Of all the things to say in front of the chancellor.

And yet, the writ _was_ rather long.

Cullen smothered a snort. Fortunately, the crowd and Roderick missed the Herald’s words entirely. In Roderick’s case, that wasn’t surprising. The man was too absorbed in himself to notice anyone else.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to be,” the chancellor said, loudly.

“The world wasn’t supposed to go to the Void, either, Rodrick,” Cullen snapped in reply. To the Herald he added, “Shall we?”

Cullen waved his hammer at the path before them and strode away from the Chantry. The Herald fell in step beside him, and the crowds parted to let them pass. Cullen slanted a glance at her, but she kept her eyes straight ahead. Cullen turned away with a smile on his face.

 _Well hung._ He chuckled. Really.

As they walked along, the people of Haven kept skittering out of their way, looking at the Herald with expressions of reverence and awe. Cullen found their gaping rather annoying, though it didn’t seem to bother the Herald. She strode through the village with her chin lifted high, her shoulders squared, and with a certain sway of her hips - not quite a swagger, but she had a proud, almost sensual walk.

Cullen pushed that thought out of his mind and turned his eyes forward. He scanned the crowd for Cassandra and the others, then spotted Leliana and Josephine a moment later. The spymaster and the ambassador were standing on the small rise overlooking the path to the tavern. Cassandra was nowhere in sight.

“My!” Leliana said, noting the Herald’s arrival. “Someone cleans up well.”

Cullen turned just in time to see the Herald smile shyly and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She glanced up through her lashes, her freckled cheeks tinged with a blush. Cullen cleared his throat and turned quickly away.

Instead of considering the mage, Cullen considered their vantage point. He and the others stood where the stairs up to the Chantry formed a stage of sorts. Leliana and Josephine looked quite pleased to be part of the production. They were speaking over one another, both nodding in approval at the Herald's clothing. The Herald, for her part, stood very still as the other women fussed about her.

“You should have used the Orlesian rouge,” Cullen heard Leliana saying.

 _She doesn’t need it_ , Cullen thought to himself. She looked perfectly fine as she was. Paint could not improve that smooth skin.

Cullen stopped his thoughts with a frown.

That observation served no purpose, he told himself. He imagined taking the useless piece of information out of his head and setting it aside in the snow. Then Cullen turned his eyes forward and waited for the ceremony to begin.

* * *

Kate wondered how long this announcement was going to take. There was a palpable excitement in the air - well, sort of. Everyone looked expectant, but also grim. Kate could hardly blame them. She felt much the same. It didn’t help that Leliana and the dark-haired ambassador - Kate had not caught the woman’s name - were still fussing over her as if she were a mannequin in a dress shop.

Leliana ushered Kate to stand directly by the bear-soldier - nearly shoulder to shoulder. The man took a large step to the side the moment Leliana had her back turned, Kate noticed. Kate wasn’t sure if that was just because he didn’t like to be crowded, or if he was a bit leery of standing so close to a Fade-touched mage. Well, she thought, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been snubbed by a handsome man.

Wait. Handsome? Kate glanced at the bear-soldier once again.

Yes, ‘handsome’ was accurate, she realized. And he didn’t look much like a bear anymore, not all cleaned up like that. The man’s armor was polished, his fur mantle looked clean and soft. He’d washed and combed his hair and gold curls brushed the nape of his neck. Standing this close to him, Kate also noticed that the man had a scar on his upper lip. A line slashed upward through his stubble and nearly to his cheek. Far from marring his looks, the scar just drew attention to his mouth. He had nice eyes, Kate thought. They were brown and kind, in spite of the dark circles under them.

Just then, the man looked over at her. Kate flushed at once.

Maker, she didn’t usually go about staring at people like that. Her confusion and grief had clearly upset her manners.

Kate gave the man a half-smile, then turned her head back to the view. She hoped that her face had not turned completely red. Kate squared her shoulders and tried to look as if she belonged up here before the crowd.

Just then, the Chantry bells began to ring. On cue, Cassandra appeared at the far end of the village. Every soldier in the crowd straightened a little as the Seeker passed. Kate straightened as well. Cassandra came marching up the steps, a smug expression on her face. The setting sun cast the scene in a rosy light, and then, as Cassandra joined them on the ridge, several banners unfurled in various places around the camp. Upon each banner was the symbol of a single flaming eye. It seemed to Kate that there were now several one-eyed giants glaring down into the village. Leliana then stepped forward and released two ravens into the air. The birds flew off in opposite directions, cawing loud enough to drown out the Chantry bells.

Kate bit the inside of her lip. She was sure this was all meant to be very grand, but the whole thing made her want to laugh. Kate glanced over her shoulder, only to find that the bear-soldier wore a similarly bemused expression. He gave Kate a look as if to say ‘Ravens? Really?’

Kate bit back a grin, and they both turned their eyes forward.

For a moment, Kate stood there with the others - the Seeker, the spymaster, the bear-soldier, and the ambassador. She gazed out at all the people, spotting a few faces in the crowd that she recognized: Varric Tethras, for one, and there was Coll, sitting in the window of the tavern, and Lysette standing right beside her. Kate had to suppress the urge to wave at them.

Then the bells of the Chantry stopped ringing and silence fell. A few murmurs rippled through the crowd. And then Kate realized Cassandra was gesturing at her.

“Go on,” Cassandra whispered.

“What?” Kate whispered back, unsure of what the woman meant. “Go on?”

“Your speech,” Cassandra told her. “It’s time for your speech.”

Kate’s mouth dropped open.

“ _What_?”

She nearly shrieked aloud, but caught herself just in time. Instead, Kate hissed the words so loudly that surely some of the people in the front row heard her. She stared at the Seeker, eyes wide.

“I’m supposed to make a _speech_?”

“Cassandra didn’t tell you?” Leliana whispered from behind.

“Yes,” Cassandra said just as Kate hissed, “No!”

“I told you we planned to announce the Inquisition,” Cassandra told Kate, her voice low and urgent.

”‘We’ is not _me_ ,” Kate whispered furiously. “‘Announce’ is not a speech.”

“I am no good at speeches,” Cassandra replied.

“She’s terrible,” Leliana agreed. “Besides, they want the Herald of Andraste.”

“Go on,” the dark-haired ambassador whispered. “Say something.”

“Say anything,” the bear-soldier muttered behind Kate.

Kate shot him a glance, but the man was looking straight ahead at the crowds. Kate turned her attention back to the crowds, too.

 _It’s alright, Kate,_ she told herself. _All you need to do is…give a speech._

As soon as she thought this, Kate relaxed a little. Well, _that_ was far easier than fighting demons and shutting a tear in the Veil. Kate had taken classes in rhetoric, after all. She’d given lectures and delivered papers, engaged in academic debates - even her parent’s parties had given her ample opportunities for toasts and impromptu announcements of all sorts. Oddly enough, Kate felt far more comfortable speaking to a crowd of strangers than she did chatting with handsome soldiers and fashionable spymasters.

By the time Kate took her first step forward, she had a rough outline in mind. With the second step, she settled on an opening line. When she came to a halt in front of the crowd, Kate took a breath to calm herself.

 _And project your voice for the people in the back,_ Kate thought, imagining the advice her mother would have given her. The crowd had begun to murmur at the delay, but now they went quiet as Kate lifted her chin.

* * *

Well, this was going to be awkward, Cullen thought, frowning. This was why he found formal ceremonies so absurd. Inevitably, something went wrong. It would be far better to keep things casual, but no, the others had insisted upon a ‘proper’ announcement. And then it seemed that they’d left the announcing part up to the Herald - and without warning, too.

While Cullen felt badly for the woman, he felt grateful that it wasn’t _him_ standing up there. He could address his troops well enough, but public speaking was something else entirely. Even as Cullen thought that, the Herald took a hesitant step forward. Her left hand opened and closed nervously. Cullen grimaced in anticipation of the mess that was sure to ensue. He just hoped the woman managed not to stammer.

“ _People of Haven._ “

Cullen straightened at once. _That_ was not stammering. The mage spoke with enough authority to make everyone in town come snapping to attention.

“People of Haven,” she said again, in that same clear, ringing voice. “This day marks an end. But it also marks a new beginning. Today, we mourn the end of Divine Justina. We mourn the Conclave, which we hoped would bring peace. We mourn the loss of many others, too - mages, templars, friends…”

Here, the mage swallowed and trailed off. For a moment, Cullen feared she would lose her composure, but she got herself under control so quickly, he was left wondering if it had all been for dramatic effect.

“I don’t need to tell you what we lost,” the Herald went on, her voice hardening and growing cold as though it had been flash-frozen. “You know the names of the dead better than I. You feel the loss of the Divine as deeply as any priest in the Grand Cathedral. You know that the world was already balanced on the edge of chaos. And you know that what has happened here has tipped that balance.

“The Divine had a plan,” she told the crowd, “It was a plan she hoped never to use. That plan was the Inquisition. Now, many of you…”

The mage paused here, for a low rumble went through the crowd at the mention of the word ‘Inquisition.’

“Many of you,” the Herald began again, “have heard of the previous Inquisition. If you’re anything like me, that name doesn’t inspire much confidence. But the Divine considered this. She wanted the Inquisition to begin anew. She wanted us to band together - mage and templar, layman and priestess - and try to set the world right.”

Reasonably accurate, Cullen thought, nodding slightly to himself. There was a bit more to it than that, but she’d gotten the gist of it well enough.

“The Divine planned to use the Inquisition to address the mage-templar conflict,” the Herald continued, “but we face much more. We face a tear in the Veil. We face demons and rifts. Most of all, we face the challenge of finding out who is behind this, and bringing them to justice.

“Today, we mourn our losses. But tomorrow, we will go forward, ready to begin again. We will carry out the Divine’s wishes. We will see our friends avenged. But most of all, we will do this together. As of this moment, we are now the Inquisition.”

The Herald ended there, and her words seemed to echo in the lightly-falling snow. Cullen let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.

Well then, he thought, blinking. That was…

Maker's breath, that was unexpected. Simple, to the point, even inspiring. Not bad for a speech. Not bad at all. The Herald now stood tall in the setting sun, her bearing proud as any knight-commander. In that light, Cullen found her quite attractive.

Wait. Attractive?

Cullen cleared his throat. Maker’s breath, his mind was wandering today. He again sloughed off that unwanted observation, and mentally kicked it aside for good measure.

* * *

Well, Kate thought, gazing out at the silent crowd. That was over. It wasn’t perfect, but for off-the-cuff it had been pretty good.

And now what, Kate wondered? Was the crowd supposed to clap? Was there another banner that would be unfurled? Maybe they should have one with the word ‘Inquisition!’ painted upon it, streaming across the sky. It would go well with the ravens. Kate stifled a nervous laugh. This was anticlimactic, really. But at least it was done.

Kate turned her head, ready to ask the others what happened next. But when she did so, Kate saw the bear-soldier was looking at her in a odd way. Before Kate could analyze his expression, someone spoke loudly from the middle of the now-silent crowd.

“Is it true that Andraste saved you?” a voice called out. “Did she speak to you? Did she tell you the Maker’s plans for us?”

 _Eesh_ , Kate thought with an inward groan. It seemed the people of Haven were going for the hard questions first. Behind her, Kate heard Leliana whisper:

“Say yes. They expect it.”

Kate gritted her teeth. Yes, they expected her to be their Herald, but Kate refused to lie. She couldn’t figure out who had spoken, so when she answered, she addressed the crowd as a whole.

“I was certainly saved,” Kate replied, allowing her voice to carry to the people in the back. “Whether by Andraste’s hand or the Maker’s will or just dumb luck, I honestly don’t know. I don’t remember much of what happened up there.”

A murmur of disappointment went through the crowd. Kate could almost feel Leliana scowling behind her.

“I make no claims to holiness,” Kate went on. “And I certainly didn’t ask for this.”

Here, Kate held up her hand, allowing it to spark and shimmer. The people of Haven gave out a collective gasp at the sight.

“Good,” Leliana whispered behind Kate, her voice full of approval. “Very good. That’s what they want to see.”

“I didn’t ask for this mark,” Kate went on, letting her hand drop. “I don’t know how it came to be there, or what magic created it. But I know this: We can use the mark to close the rifts and fight the demons. And I promise to use it as best I am able.” She paused, then added, “I, and the Inquisition, will do whatever is in our power to set this right.”

A pause met this promise, and then someone began to clap - it was Varric, Kate realized a moment later. Then Coll started whistling from the back. Lysette began cheering, too, and soon a roar went up from the crowd. Kate let out a sigh of relief.

Alright, she thought. That was a bit more like the reaction she had expected.

“There now,” Kate heard the bear-soldier mutter dryly. “I suppose that will do.”

Kate chuckled at his words. Beside her, the dark-haired ambassador sputtered.

“Do?” she nearly cried. “What do you mean? That was quite astonishing.”

Kate was about to point out that the man had been joking, but Leliana cut her off with a tap to Kate’s shoulder.

“Quickly,” the spymaster said. “Let us not ruin it by lingering.”

“Hear, hear,” the bear-soldier said. “Retreat now before they start firing off more questions.”

Kate nodded her agreement. And while the crowd continued to cheer, Kate and the others escaped to the Chantry.


	17. Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate's stomach facilitates the meeting

The Chantry doors shut behind them and everyone walked on into the nave. Kate, however, trailed behind. She was not sure where the others were going with such purpose. For her part, she had half a mind to go lie down on her bed and rest. The speech had exhausted her, making her feel like she’d cast a massive spell - with her mouth.

More than that, Kate’s stomach rumbled, and it occurred to her that she hadn’t eaten in a long while. Considering how long she had been unconscious, her last meal must have have been the meat pies she’d bought at the Lake Calenhad docks. That barely passed as food. The Spoiled Princess, or whatever that inn had been called, was surely the grimiest establishment Kate had ever patronized. Robert had dubbed it “The Spoiled Larder”.

At the thought of Robert, Kate felt her mood sink. The growing ache in her heart made a painful counterpoint to the ache in her stomach.

“Come along,” Cassandra called back to her, interrupting Kate’s thoughts. “We must join the meeting in the war room.”

Kate looked up, realizing that everyone else had disappeared from sight. The door to the forward room of the Chantry stood open, so Kate supposed that was where they had all gone. With memories of Robert and of greasy meat pies running through her head, Kate followed Cassandra into this so-called ‘war room.’

It didn’t look like a war room, Kate thought, as she stepped inside. It resembled a study, complete with bookcases and statues of Andraste. And Kate wasn’t sure she liked the idea of being at _war_. Had they named the place before or after the Divine was killed, Kate wondered?

Kate glanced around the table - the ‘war table’, she supposed it was, to go with the ‘war room.’ The bear-soldier stood opposite Kate, flanked by Leliana and the dark-haired ambassador. With all these people staring at her, Kate felt as though she were an apprentice again, sent down to the First Enchanter’s office to be reprimanded for some infraction.

“This is Katerina Trevelyan,” Cassandra said abruptly, motioning to Kate.

And now they were doing formal introductions, Kate thought. It seemed a little late for it, considering she’d already fought demons alongside three of these people. Still, her Trevelyan-bred manners kicked in, in spite of her growling stomach. Kate straightened her shoulders and gave everyone a courteous smile.

“Hello,” she said. “Please call me…”

“This is Ambassador Josephine Montilyet, of Antiva City,” Cassandra said, cutting Kate off.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” the dark-haired woman said, smiling at Kate. “We met at your Great-aunt’s ball last summer, though we were not able to speak for long. Your admirers kept your dance card full, as I recall.”

Kate recalled no such thing - neither having admirers, nor meeting the ambassador. Kate _did_ recall that Robert frequently bribed his friends into dancing with her. While the rest of the Trevelyans guarded Kate from social slights to protect their own reputation, Robert had genuinely tried to make Kate feel welcome.

And there was another thought of Robert, and another pang to the heart. Kate gave her head a little shake to clear it, then resumed her brittle smile.

“Of course,” she said. “Delighted, Lady Montilyet.”

“And you have already met Cullen,” Cassandra added, nodding at the bear-soldier.

 _Cullen,_ Kate thought to herself. Right. That was his name. As she turned her eyes to him, the fellow smiled at her - well, smirked, rather. The twist of his lips drew attention to his scar. Even distracted by hunger and thoughts of her cousin, Kate was again struck by how appealing that was.

Not as appealing as a sandwich would be right now, Kate told herself.

“Pleased to meet you, ser,” she said.

“Likewise,” the man replied. “I’m pleased to see you survived.”

What a curious thing to say. Kate let out a short laugh. Only a soldier could be so casual about demon slaying and breach closing.

“Why thank you,” she said, “I’m rather glad I survived, too.”

Before the man could respond, Cassandra cut in. She introduced Leliana - as ‘the spymaster’, of all things.

 _Oh,_ Kate thought, drawing back a bit. The Inquisition had a spymaster. That meant they had spies. As in, actual spies, who were out there now…spying.

 _Maker’s breath,_ Kate thought. What had she gotten into?

* * *

Ten minutes later, Kate felt even hungrier, and others showed no signs of stopping. She sighed and glanced around the table in frustration. And these were the leaders of the Inquisition, Kate thought. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe it was _because_ they were all used to running things that they weren’t able to come to a compromise. At the moment, Cullen and Josephine were arguing about sleeping arrangements, or some such. Leliana wanted to return to the topic of Roderick. Cassandra seemed more comfortable with the role of bodyguard rather than chiming in. The Seeker stood silently at attention, looking on with an expression of disgust.

Oh, for the Maker’s sake, Kate thought, utterly at the end of her patience. How long was this going to take? She was hungry and hurting and before she could think better of it, Kate raised her voice and asked:

“What is the point of this meeting?”

Every eye in the room turned to her. Kate now felt rather foolish. What was she thinking, interrupting the servants of the Divine? But in for a penny, in for a sovereign and all that. So she pressed on:

“I mean, these are a lot of things to consider, but what needs to be taken care of right away?”

 _And what can wait until after I’ve had supper?_ Kate added silently.

“One thing we _must_ address is that the nobility are not pleased with their lodgings…” Josephine began.

“Of course not,” Cullen cut in. “If they were simply grateful to be alive, they might be mistaken for peasants.”

“Does this matter?” Kate asked, causing Josephine to blink and Cullen to snort with amusement.

“What I mean is,” Kate said, trying to soften her tone, “Surely the nobles understand that the breach and the rifts are the priority. Maybe if we remind them of that…” She trailed off meaningfully.

Josephine tapped her chin thoughtfully. “With some shuffling, we could vacate the cabin by the healer’s hut,” she said. “The nobles won’t like it, but it’s clean and located close to the chantry.”

“Sounds good,” Kate nodded.

“If they continue to complain,” Cullen suggested, “hand them a tent and tell them to pitch it wherever they like.”

“Now that we have _that_ settled,” Leliana said archly, “Perhaps we can deal with Chancellor Roderick. I still say we should have the man investigated.”

“That’ll only give him more fodder for his complaints,” Cullen said, while at the same time, Josephine cried, “Leliana! He _is_ a Chantry cleric.”

“A troublesome one, Josie,” Leliana replied. “I can watch him - without letting him  _know_ he’s being watched.”

“Won’t he spot the scouts trailing him?” Cullen wanted to know.

“Have you spotted the scouts trailing _you_ , commander?” Leliana replied with a grin.

“What?” Cullen blinked. He studied the spymaster as if trying to decide whether or not she was joking.

“Is there any harm in just watching him?” Kate asked.

“None,” Leliana said, as Cullen replied, “So long as he doesn’t notice.”

“Roderick doesn’t strike me as the most perceptive of persons,” Kate observed. “If Leliana has a spy to spare and it puts her mind at ease…”

“You take to this well, Lady Trevelyan,” Josephine said. Her eyes narrowed, but Kate thought she spotted the ghost of a smile on the woman’s lips.

“Er…thanks?,” Kate mumbled. Normally she would have blanched at having a man followed, but for Roderick, she’d make an exception. The man had twice threatened to have her executed.

“So much for the chancellor,” Kate said briskly, eager to move on. “Anything else?”

Everyone looked at her, then exchanged glances across the table. They were probably wondering why she was being so pushy. But really, Kate thought, if they took offense at her behavior, she could apologize for it later - _after_ she’d eaten.

“We need to know how to address the Chantry,” Josephine told Kate, picking up a strange sort of writing board. It had parchment upon it, as well as an ink pot and a candle set into the upper rim. It looked like a mess or a fire just waiting to happen, but Josephine gracefully held it up and began to write.

“Address the Chantry?” Kate asked, frowning. She had no idea what that meant, so Josephine quickly laid out the very cheery situation. The remaining clerics had denounced the Inquisition and thought Kate was a heretic come to lead all the faithful astray.

 _Of course they did_ , Kate thought with a roll of her eyes.

“Was that before or after we stopped the demons pouring from the sky?” Kate asked, dryly. Cullen chuckled, but Josephine just frowned.

“After, unfortunately.”

“Right,” Kate murmured. “And I’m a mage, so that doesn’t help at all.” Cullen shot her a strange look at that, but Leliana stepped in, drawing Kate’s attention.

“There _are_ elements in the Chantry that may help us,” the spymaster said, slyly. She mentioned a few names, and Kate listened carefully to the plan the spymaster laid out.

“So you think I ought to talk to Mother Giselle,” Kate said. “And she’s in the Hinterlands. Is that…far away?” Kate looked at the map questioningly, realizing she had no clue.

“Practically our back door,” Cullen said, pointing at a spot just south of Haven, on the banks of Lake Calenhad. “A half a day’s ride will get you there - a full day trek on foot. My men are already on their way to secure the area.”

“And my scouts,” Leliana added.

“Half a day’s ride,” Kate mused. “Do we _have_ horses?” She looked up eagerly.

“None,” Cullen sighed. “The stable at the base of the Penitent’s Path was, ah…”

“Demons ate them all,” Cassandra put in.

“Oh,” the Kate said. “How awful.”

The poor things. If she had been less hungry, she would have lost her appetite at that thought.

“There may be horses in the Hinterlands,” Leliana pointed out. “The farms there were known for the quality of their stables.”

“Excellent,” Kate nodded. “Hinterlands, Giselle, horses. Is that all?”

* * *

Was there something she needed to get to, Cullen wondered? Still, he was impressed with how efficiently she was moving the others through the meeting. Cullen could keep his soldiers on task easily enough, but meetings with Josephine and Leliana always seemed to take far longer than he expected. It was probably because the three of them could never quite agree on anything. It was useful to have a third - or rather, _fourth_ \- party along to chime in. Cassandra was little help, for the woman often said one thing, but meant something else entirely.

“One last thing,” Leliana said, “though it is the most important, by far. We need to discuss how we will permanently shut the breach.”

“With the mark, I thought,” the Herald said, giving the spymaster an odd look.

“Yes, but we need more magic,” Leliana said. “More mages.”

Cullen was certain he knew where she was going with this, and bristled before the words even left the woman’s mouth.

“The rebel mages are holed up in Redcliffe Village, in the Hinterlands,” the spymaster told the Herald.

“They are?” the Herald asked, blinking at the spymaster. “All of them?”

“Most of them,” Leliana returned. “They could help us. We must seek a meeting with them.”

“I didn’t realize they’d gotten organized,” the Herald murmured, turning her gaze to the map.

“They probably _aren’t_ ,” Cullen informed her, his mouth set in a grim line. He pitied those mages. Really, he did. But he had no desire to _join_ with the poor fools. And yet, judging by the Herald’s reaction, _she_ just might.

Blast it. Of course she would. She was a mage, after all. And yet, Cullen hadn’t really thought of her as a mage until now. He had known what she was, of course. That had become abundantly obvious the second time they’d met. But between the mark on her hand, the possibility of her guilt and the little matter of her falling out of the _Fade_ , Cullen had overlooked her magic - her innate magic, that is. Now, he was reminded that she was part of that class of people who could summon the elements with a single thought.

Still, the Herald seemed a sensible sort of person. She had heeded the Divine’s summons and come to the Conclave, after all. That spoke well of her, as did her willingness to help the Inquisition. And yet, Cullen wondered where her loyalties truly lay. He had declared himself for the Inquisition, leaving his Order behind. Could they trust this mage to be just as devoted in her support? Or would she choose her fellows if forced to decide between the faithful and the rebels?

“The rebel mages can help us seal the breach,” Leliana was now telling the Herald. “They would be a powerful ally.”

And the mage looked quite pleased with that suggestion, Cullen thought with a frown. For his part, he could only imagine what chaos a camp full of mages would cause. With the Veil torn open and so few templars remaining, Haven would be drowned in abominations by the week’s end.

“That’s absurd,” Cullen said, hoping to get them all to see sense. “If the mages had magic enough to shut the Veil, then we wouldn’t be getting so many reports of rifts in the Hinterlands.”

“The mages could pour their power into the Herald’s mark,” Leliana explained. “Make it even stronger.”

“What?” the Herald balked, casting a doubtful glance at her left hand. “We don’t even know how this thing works, and now we want to make it _stronger_?”

“Preposterous,” Cullen agreed, relived the mage was seeing reason. “We should seek out the templars instead. They could suppress the breach.”

The Herald gave Cullen a dubious look. “And that’s less dangerous…how?”

Cullen let out a long breath. So much for her seeing reason.

“That would lessen the magic of the breach,” he explained.

“Wouldn’t a weakened breach just tear the Veil further?” the mage asked. “If the fabric of the worlds is frayed, would dispelling magic banish it back to the fade, or draw even more magic through?”

Cullen opened his mouth, then left it open without a saying anything. That was actually a fair question, he thought, but before he could form an answer, Leliana cut in again:

“You don’t even know that the templars could effectively weaken the breach, commander,” she said. “They might do nothing at all.”

“I do know something of templars and their effect on magic, Sister Nightingale,” Cullen said, “I was one, if you recall.”

“Wait,” the Herald’s gaze shot to him, her voice rising in alarm. “You’re a _templar_?”

* * *

Kate regretted her outburst the moment the words left her mouth. Every eye in the room swung to her. She cringed, realizing how shrill she had sounded. But Maker damn it, why had no one told her? Here, she’d been talking with the man, admiring his looks - in a purely aesthetic way, of course - and it turned out he was a _templar_.

Of course he was, some part of Kate’s mind chimed in. No doubt, that was why she had admired his looks in the first place. Templars were the consummate warriors: dedicated, athletic, well-trained and…Anyhow, the relevant point was that this bear-soldier was actually a bear- _templar_. And no one had warned her.

“I _was_ a templar,” the man said, drawing Kate back to the present. “Will that be a problem?”

Kate was about to reply, ‘no, of course not’ and then pretend to be very interested in the map. That’s what she would have done if she were still in the tower, or back home with her parents. She would have been far too fearful of the templar in her midst, and too mindful of his authority to do anything else.

But instead, Kate stopped and actually thought about it. Maybe she had found courage in fighting demons - and winning against them. Maybe she had finally realized that as the Herald, these people needed her help as much as she needed their protection. Or maybe she was just too tired and hungry to care. Whatever the reason, Kate shrugged and looked the bear-templar right in the eye.

“I don’t think so,” she said, her tone cool, but firm. “Will it?”

He drew back ever so slightly, but repeated her words:

“I don’t think so.”

“Good,” Kate said, crisply.

“Good,” the man said, his tone as chilly as Kate felt.

Kate let out a breath as she realized she should probably say something more. She was a mage, and he a templar, but that didn’t mean they had to be at odds. If this man was with the Inquisition, he clearly wasn’t with the rest of his Order. He wasn’t out hunting down mages, or anything awful like that. Of course, Kate reflected, if he was a templar, he still took lyrium. That was enough to give her pause.

Still, Kate told herself, she was not some stammering apprentice, newly arrived at the tower. This would be just like when her templar cousins came to visit Trevelyan house, and they all sat around drinking tea and pretending to be friends. Kate would be polite to this Commander Cullen, and all the while, she’d keep her distance from him. The table between them was a good start.

“It won’t be a problem,” Kate assured him, pasting a smile upon her face as spoke. “All the same, maybe we could leave the question of mages and templars and powering up this mark for another time. At present, I’m a bit…”

Her stomach decided to speak for her, then. It growled so loudly that everyone in the room heard it. Kate flushed, placing a hand over her belly.

”…hungry,” she finished, sheepishly.

“It would seem so,” Josephine laughed, clearly pleased that the conversation had taken a more relaxed, if more gastronomical turn. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Four days ago?” Kate said. “Five?”

“Five days?” Leliana gasped. “Cassandra!”

“What?” the Seeker scowled. “I didn’t starve her.”

“You didn’t feed her either,” Josephine said. “Cassandra, we can’t expect the Herald to go without food for _five_ days.”

“I thought the Dalish fed her,” Cassandra said, frowning. “She gave you water, I’m sure.”

As if to belie Cassandra’s words, Kate’s stomach growled again.

“Go on,” the templar said, shortly, waiving a hand at the door. “Get yourself something to eat. We can resume our discussion in the morning.”

“It sounded more like an argument than a discussion,” Josephine murmured with a frown.

“We leave for the Hinterlands in the morning,” Cassandra cut in. “There will be no time for meetings tomorrow.”

“So we’ll talk on the road, then?” Kate asked, glancing around the room. She didn’t much like the idea of marching with these people for hours, but she supposed it would give them time to work things through.

“We’re not going with you,” Leliana replied, indicating the templar, the ambassador and herself. “We have duties here.”

Well thank the Maker for that, Kate thought. Between the templar and the spymaster, Kate was already feeling nervous. Josephine seemed much nicer, but her frilly dress and slippers made Kate wonder just how good she’d be at marching in the wilderness. Probably even worse than Kate would be, she figured.

“I will accompany Trevelyan,” Cassandra replied. “We can discuss the question of how to close the breach when we return with Mother Giselle.” She addressed this statement primarily at the templar and the spymaster.

“Fine,” Cullen shrugged. “Maybe by then you’ll all see what madness it is to put that many mages that close to the breach.”

Kate slanted a glance at him, but said nothing. By now, Kate figured that the less she said, the quicker she got fed.

“Come with me, Trevelyan,” Cassandra said, waiving a hand at Kate. “Flissa will have sausages at the tavern.”

At the word ‘sausages,’ Kate’s stomach growled again, this time in anticipation of being filled. Kate gave a polite smile and nod to each person in the room - even the bear-templar.

Then she turned and followed Cassandra out of the room. After all, Kate told herself, sausages were far more compelling than war meetings and templar drama.

* * *

“Well, she’s…not what I expected,” Josephine said, the moment the door had closed behind the Herald.

Cullen rolled his eyes and shot her a speaking glance.

“She fell out of the Fade with a magical mark on her hand,” he said, dryly. “She’s not what anyone expected.”

“I know _that_ ,” Josephine replied, making a _tisk_ -ing sort of sound as only an Antivan could. “But I _met_ Lady Trevelyan before. She was very distinguished and charming, as I recall. But she was not so…”

“Jumpy?” Cullen suggested.

“I was going to say ‘bold,’” Josephine replied.

“She wasn’t jumpy until you said that you were a templar, Cullen,” Leliana pointed out.

“Had no one told her before this?” Josephine wanted to know.

Cullen frowned. Surely someone had told her. He had mentioned, it, hadn’t he? But Cullen realized he hadn’t. He was so used to everyone knowing his history that it never occurred to him to announce himself.

Of course, Cullen thought, when the Herald found out, she had withdrawn at once. She had given him that look - that wary expression that First Enchanters wore around their resident Knight-Commanders. She had been civil, of course. Cullen was beginning to realize that the Herald was always polite - perhaps a little _too_ polite. Still, he suspected that under her frosty smiles, she had decided to dislike him on principle.

So be it, Cullen thought in annoyance. So long as they were working together, he didn’t care for her opinion. He hadn’t come to Ferelden to make friends, after all.

At that thought, Cullen remembered something an acquaintance had once said to him. He rested his hand on the map, and absently traced a finger over the city of Kirkwall.

“You heard the mage,” he said aloud. “It won’t be a problem.”

“Yes, I heard her,” Josephine said. Her wry tone suggested that she had heard something rather different than what Cullen had heard.

“What?” he asked, looking up.

“I heard a near argument break out between a mage and a templar - and during our first meeting, too,” Josephine said, her dark eyes narrowing at him.

“Former templar,” Cullen reminded her. “And it wasn’t an argument.”

“It wasn’t friendly,” Leliana replied. “We have work to do. We do not need mage-templar politics confusing things in our inner circle.”

“All the more reason _not_ to invite the entire rebellion into the Inquisition,” Cullen told her.

“Oh, so we should side with the templars instead?” Leliana said, her thin brows drawing together angrily.

“Maker’s tears, you two!” Josephine exclaimed. “It was a good thing Lady Trevelyan was thinking with her stomach, or we might never have gotten through that meeting.”

What a funny way to put it, Cullen thought. And yet, in a way, it was true.

“All the same,” Josephine went on, tapping her quill pen in the air, as if putting a fine point on her words. “You _may_ want to say something to her, Cullen.”

“Me? Say something to the Herald?”

“That’s a good thought, Josie,” Leliana nodded. “Assure her that we are all on the same side. We must be united in the days to come.”

“The woman said as much in that speech of hers,” Cullen told them. “Surely she doesn’t need _me_ to remind her of that.”

“Say it anyway,” Josephine said, “Lady Trevelyan has no fewer than six templar cousins. I’m sure she has great respect for the Order.”

Cullen doubted that very much. In his experience, there was a gulf between mages and templars that even family ties could not quite overcome. Still, Josephine was probably right. It wouldn’t hurt to clear the air a bit.

“Fine,” Cullen said, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I’ll speak to her later.”

But Cullen did not speak to the Herald that night. After talking with Leliana about the scouts and troops sent to the Hinterlands, he went to find Rylen. They had a long meeting, and then Cullen supposed he ought to see the requisitions officer about getting swords for the new recruits. By the time Cullen went to the tavern to grab a bite to eat, the Herald was long gone. He considered tracking her down, then decided against it. Surely the matter could be addressed in the morning easily enough. Besides, a certain amount of distance and coolness between him and the mage was acceptable - preferable, even.

So instead, Cullen grabbed a sandwich, then walked back to his frosted tent and settled in for what was likely to be a cold, sleepless night.


	18. Thaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate and Cullen establish a rapport.

The nightmare tried to hold him under, but Cullen clawed his way out. He burst from the sweat-drenched blankets and lurched forward out of his bedroll. He landed on his hands and knees, then crouched there, shaking.

_Maker’s breath. Not again._

The air was cold in the darkened tent, and Cullen shivered. He took one great shuddering breath, then ran a hand through his tangled, curling hair. He sat back on his heels and let out a long sigh.

_One more nightmare survived. That makes how many now?_

Cullen let out a bitter laugh. He supposed he’d brought this upon himself. When he was a templar, Cullen had not feared the night terrors commonly associated with the job. Then, he had known that a blue vial would greet him in the morning. Now, he dreaded sleep, knowing he’d only wake to tangled sheets and a gnawing emptiness that felt as if it would never be filled. He had thought that self-denial would grow easier with time. But every day without lyrium was as difficult as the first.

Best get to work then, Cullen thought with a sigh. It would take him at least half an hour to fight his way back to normalcy. There was irony in that. Freedom from the lyrium meant Cullen was bound to an even stricter regimen than before.

Cullen donned his armor - no small feat in a darkened tent that forced him to bend double - then headed outside. He picked up his sword and shield, and went to work on the practice dummies. All the while, Cullen imagined himself sorting through the mess in his mind as if he was sorting through the papers on his desk. The part of the dream involving claws and teeth? Torn in half and thrown on the fire. The part of the dream involving smooth skin and glossy hair? Shoved into a bottom drawer - not destroyed, but definitely ignored. With each swing of the sword, Cullen felt the blood moving in his chilled veins, felt as if he was similarly thawing the more reasonable parts of his mind. Bit by bit, he brought himself back from the deep freeze of fear.

By the time Rylen joined him at the practice field, Cullen had worked up a good sweat - a good _warm_ sweat - to banish the clammy chill of morning. Cullen stopped abruptly as Rylen approached, then gave the man a nod and went to put away his weapons.

“At it early, ser?” Rylen asked. His Starkhaven brogue made it sound as if he was asking far more than the question he’d actually posed. Cullen glanced at the man, his expression speaking for him.

“Right,” Rylen said grimly.

He didn’t ask any more questions. Every templar knew how bad memories could be. But Rylen didn’t know that Cullen was facing those memories without lyrium. No one knew that, except for Cassandra.

“No reports from Keran and Ruvena yet,” Rylen said, mercifully changing the subject.

Cullen nodded. He hadn’t expected there to be.

“The group going to to the Hinterlands are gathering their supplies now,” Rylen went on. “They’re takin’ the Herald with them, right?”

Cullen drew up short at the mention of the woman.

“Er, right,” he murmured. He looked back at the village gates with a frown.

“Ser?” Rylen asked.

“Nothing,” Cullen muttered. “I just… I agreed to speak to the Herald before she leaves. Something Josephine wanted.”

He didn’t bother to elaborate, and Rylen didn’t ask for clarification.

“You could catch her at the smithy, ser,” the captain said, pointing. “Saw her headin’ in that direction a few minutes ago.”

“Alright,” Cullen said, trying not to sound as though he dreaded the meeting. “Get the recruits going on their drills. Adjust the training regimen to focus on dealing with mages. They need to be prepared. Leliana reports that the Hinterlands are crawling with apostates.”

“Right ser.”

Rylen saluted, and Cullen strode away.

It took Cullen a while to track down the Herald. It wasn’t that she blended in to the scenery. Quite the opposite, really, for her hair was like a beacon in the rising sun. But Cullen spent a minute searching around the blacksmith’s place before realizing she’d wandered past the smithy and down to the lake.

Cullen soon found the Herald at the end of a dock, a solitary figure against the white expanse of the frozen lake. She stood with her arms folded over her chest, her face turned toward the ice. Cullen strode up to the shore, then cleared his throat.

The mage stiffened, but she did not turn around.

“Morning,” Cullen said, politely.

The mage said nothing in reply. Cullen paused for a moment, confused. Surely she had heard him, he thought.

“Before you go,” he said, speaking a little more loudly, “I wanted to speak to you. Yesterday at the war table, I mentioned that I was once part of the templar Order.”

He said this firmly, determined not to sound apologetic for the fact. He also paused here, allowing the mage a chance to respond to his statement. She said nothing. She didn’t even move.

Was she deliberately ignoring him, Cullen wondered, or was she still nervous because he had once been a templar? He found it difficult to tell.

“I mentioned I was once part of the Order,” Cullen went on, his tone becoming clipped as he became more annoyed. “I did not think of it at the time, but Josephine reminded me that you are a mage and may have concerns about my past loyalties. I want you to know that I left the templars to join the Inquisition. I don’t intend to look back.”

He paused there. There was a long silence, and then - finally - the mage said:

“I see.”

Her voice was low, throaty even. It sounded a bit… sensual. Cullen shook his head, recovered himself, and pressed on.

“I imagine that you will become a regular fixture at the war table,” he said, thinking back on the previous day’s meeting. “So I want to make certain that you and I have no conflict. So long as you serve the Inquisition, I have no quarrel with you.”

Cullen waited for the Herald to say something in reply. She did not.

“Do you not agree?” he asked her, a moment later.

The Herald sniffed and lifted her chin.

“Of course,” she said.

“So then we understand one another?” Cullen asked, pointedly. “We put the needs of the Inquisition first?”

The Herald gave a short nod and said nothing.

Cullen scowled. And now he was being dismissed. Maker save him from the stubbornness of mages. Cullen turned to walk away. But then he stopped and looked over his shoulder. The Herald stood at the end of the dock, staring out over the lake. Her bearing reminded him of all those haughty Kirkwall aristocrats, who thought they were so much better than everyone who worked for a living.

Blast it, Cullen thought irritably, he did not need this. The Inquisition did not need this. There were too many lives at stake. Cullen had set aside his issues with mages - or he had tried to, anyway. This woman needed to do the same with her dislike for templars. She needed to know what they were up against. And she needed to know that Cullen wanted nothing more than to set things right.

Determined to get through to her, Cullen strode back to the shore and out onto the dock.

“Look here,” he said, marching up to the Herald’s side. “I don’t know your position on the mage rebellion and frankly I don’t care. But you must understand…”

Cullen broke off, his words failing. His feet came to a sudden stop.

For at his approach, the Herald turned her head. Sunlight glinted off of the tears running down her face. A moment passed as she stood there, staring at Cullen with eyes so full of hurt and loss that he felt as if his own heart had been crushed. Then she caught herself and turned away, shielding her face with her hand.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered in a raw, throaty voice. “I didn’t mean…” She sniffed again, and Cullen realized the sound had not been one of disdain, but that of a woman trying desperately not to weep aloud.

All thoughts of mages and templars were now forgotten. Cullen took a step toward her, and with far more feeling than finesse, asked:

“Maker’s breath, what’s the matter with you? What happened?”

* * *

The question was so strange, that Kate couldn’t help but choke out an answer.

“What happened?” she said, her words coming out on a bitter laugh. “ _That_ happened.” She pointed up at the breach with a shaking hand. “That thing, that horrible _thing_ in the sky. And I…may have done it.”

Her voice caught there, and Kate dropped her hand to her side. She now felt mortified: mortified at her outburst, mortified to have been caught crying in the first place.

She’d been caught crying by the bear-templar, of all people, Kate thought miserably. He was the _last_ person she wanted to see her like this. Years in the Circle had impressed upon Kate that templars saw emotion as a source of weakness. A sorrowful mage might attract a despair demon, a lustful one might attract a desire demon, an angry mage was prey for the rage demons - or so the reasoning went. So between the Circle and her naturally stoic family, Kate had learned to hide strong feelings. It utterly shamed her to have the templar watching her now.

Kate squeezed her eyes shut, and two more tears tracked down her cheeks. She swiped at her face with her fingers, willing the tears away.

“That wasn’t your doing,” the bear-templar said. Kate blinked up at him in surprise.

“You believe I’m innocent?” Kate asked. To her embarrassment, she hiccuped on the last word.

“It seems I do,” the templar said, more to himself than to her.

“But you can’t know that,” Kate said, softly. “ _I_ can’t know that.”

“If you _had_ destroyed the Conclave,” the bear-templar pointed out, “you’re not doing a very good job of escaping the Inquisition. You landed yourself in the middle of it, rather.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Kate said, softly.

“Call it baseless intuition,” the bear-templar said dryly. “But it seems to me that if you truly had the capacity to wipe out the entire Conclave, there would be little reason for you to remain - and we would have no chance of keeping you.”

His wry tone made Kate smile just a little - a very little. But then she swallowed as she remembered her reason for coming out here.

“I suppose that’s true,” she said. “But however it happened - however I got this mark, I survived and so many others…”

Kate broke off there, struggling to complete her thought without bursting into tears again.

“Ah,” the bear-templar said. “Yes, well, there is that.”

“Robert.” The name was out of Kate’s mouth before she could stop herself. “He was my cousin. He didn’t…” She stopped there, for her throat seemed to seize up.

“Robert?” the templar repeated. “Oh! Robert. Was he the one who…”

The templar made an odd sort of cupping motion with his hand. Kate thought the gesture looked a bit obscene, but surely she was imagining things.

“Never mind,” the bear-templar said, letting his hand drop.

“Did you see him?” Kate asked. Her chest swelled with hope and fear all at once. “They said he went to the forward camp to fight.”

“I don’t recall,” he said, hesitantly. “There were many soldiers fighting up there, and most of them died. Er, that is….”

“Robert would have stood out in a crowd,” Kate interrupted eagerly. “You would have remembered him. He was tall - golden eyes, brown skin, very handsome. Best archer you’ve ever seen.”

“No, I’m sorry,” the bear-templar said, grimacing, as if he regretted his words. “I didn’t see anyone like that. And I would have remembered a good archer. We needed them, and they were in short supply.”

“Of course,” Kate said softly, her eyes dropping back to the ice again. “I thought as much.”

She had known that was likely the case, Kate told herself. The evidence was clear: Robert was not here, which meant he was missing, which meant he was likely…

Dead.

Kate swallowed, fighting the lump that rose in her throat and threatened to pour over as another wave of tears. She had held out hope until now, even as she’d tried to tell herself that hope was foolish. Last night, she had asked around at the tavern, questioning everyone about Robert. A few people remembered him - ‘the loopy lad’, Flissa had called him. But no one had seen him after that first night. Kate had gone to bed with tears in her eyes, but with Cassandra and Josephine in the room, she had been determined not to let those tears fall.

This morning, she had woken early. Kate had walked out to the edge of town to read the lists that named the dead. Robert’s name was nowhere to be seen. And more than that, there was a sight that had made Kate crumble inside. Near the funeral pyres and along all the roads were bags - rows upon rows of bags. Coll was right - none of them looked long enough to contain Robert. But the enormity of what had happened swept through Kate like an icy wind. These people had died - and Kate had survived. She was here - and Robert was missing.

Kate had turned away from the pyre and walked blindly through the village. All the while, tears had stung her eyes, but she couldn’t let them fall - not in front of the people of Haven. They were mourning, and yet they still had returned to work.

As their Herald, how could Kate do anything less?

So Kate had hidden her tears. And when she could hide them no longer, she had hidden herself here at the end of this dock. Here, she had let the tears fall. But she hadn’t hidden herself well enough, Kate realized. The bear-templar had found her out.

“So this ‘handsome’ cousin,” he asked. “He’s your betrothed?”

“What? No!” In spite of her grief, Kate recoiled at the thought. “No, he’s just my cousin.”

“Some noble cousins marry,” the bear-templar reasoned. When Kate just stared at him, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. That’s irrelevant. Are they searching for him, or…?”

“He gone,” Kate managed. “Just gone. And I don’t…”

 _And I don’t know what happened,_ Kate wanted to say. _I don’t know where to look._ Most likely, Robert was frozen under the snows and they wouldn’t find him until the spring - if they ever did.

That was the thing about the snow, Kate thought, even as her eyes began to burn with tears. The snow covered everything - the good, the bad. It turned everything into a uniform blanket of white. And for a while, one could enjoy that cold purity. But a muddy, dirty mess hid under the snows, waiting for a thaw.

Like the mages and the templars, Kate thought, distantly. In her speech, she had spoken as though the Inquisition covered everything, transformed everyone into a smooth, even, unified cause. But that wasn’t true. The conflicts of rebels and loyalists, of Chantry and heretics still remained. As she stood here, the weight of it all pressed on Kate, so heavy that she felt suffocated.

How _did_ one move forward through all this grief, Kate wondered? How did she continue without Robert, without his humor? How would she manage to fight with a bunch of strangers at her side? How could she be sure they were even fighting for the same thing? Was their vision of peace the same as her own, Kate wondered? What would happen when the snow melted?

A sob escaped Kate and her shoulders began to shake. She quickly turned her face away as tears escaped her eyes, tracked down her cheeks, and landed on the toes of her boots.

* * *

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered, unable to think of anything else to say.

He now felt like an enormous clod. Here, he’d barreled right up to this woman, rambling on about mages and templars and his role and her role. He’d been ready to lecture her, to pronounce judgment on her, even. And all the while, there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for her odd behavior: The woman was reeling. She had endured the madness of the Conclave, borne the brunt of everyone’s suspicions, borne the weight of everyone’s expectations, and all the while, she was grieving the loss of someone close to her. How had she even managed to hold herself together, Cullen wondered? It was rather amazing, really.

And yet, while Cullen felt very sorry for the mage - and impressed by her, in a way - he also felt very awkward. He had no handkerchief to offer, and “there, there,” didn’t seem appropriate.

Void take it, Cullen thought, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the village. Where was Keran when you needed him? There was a reason that Cullen always had his lieutenant deliver the bad news to the families of fallen soldiers. It wasn’t that Cullen didn’t sympathize with loss. It was just that he never knew what to _say_. Unfortunately, there was no one here to offer the woman comfort except for Cullen. More the pity for her, he thought.

To Cullen’s relief, however, the mage managed to compose herself. She wiped her hand over one cheek, then the other, then back, then back, until Cullen was quite sure she was trying to erase her face with her fingers.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I was trying not to do this.”

“Trying not to do what?”

“Cry,” she said, with a snuffling sort of sound. “I cry when I get upset. It’s very foolish, I know. It solves nothing. And yet, when I think…” She squeezed her eyes shut, and more tears tracked down her cheeks.

“I’m struggling to make myself move,” she whispered a moment later. “But it’s like my feet are frozen to the ground.”

Cullen gave a wry half-smile at that. He knew that feeling as well. This very morning, when he’d woken up from his nightmares, he’d felt similarly immobilized.

“But I will move,” the mage added, more to herself than Cullen. “If I did this, I’ll set it right. If I didn’t do it, then I’ll find the one who did.”

The determination in her voice made Cullen feel very strange. He respected her practicality. Yet he saw another tear slide down her cheek, leaving a shimmering track behind. And because he didn’t know how to express either his approval or his sympathy, Cullen said nothing. For a moment, they stood there, side by side, neither one of them speaking.

“Robert wouldn’t have wanted me to cry,” the Herald murmured at last.

“People cry all the time,” Cullen told her.

“Trevelyans don’t.” She said it simply, as if it were a known fact.

“Well, _I_ do,” she admitted. “But don’t worry,” she added, wiping her cheeks, “I’ll be perfectly composed by the time I leave for the Hinterlands. We can’t have the Herald of Andraste go walking about with tears in her eyes. Bad for morale and all that.”

As she spoke, she turned to Cullen and gave him a little smile. Her eyes shone with both humor and unshed tears. And in that moment, Cullen felt…

 _Respect_ , he told himself. That was what this feeling was.

“And though Leliana may disagree, I imagine that a runny nose is even less flattering than Ferelden rouge,” the Herald went on, attempting to smile.

Yes, Cullen decided. This feeling was respect. The Herald had pulled herself together with a single smile. He admired that kind of self-control. He envied it, even. More than that, he and the mage were establishing a kind of rapport. That was good. Considering that they would be working together, this warmth Cullen felt for her was acceptable - appropriate, even. It was better than cool animosity, surely.

“That was supposed to be a joke,” the Herald said, frowning at whatever it was she saw in his expression.

“I gathered that,” Cullen told her. He then cleared his throat and turned his eyes toward the frozen lake.

* * *

Kate avoided looking the bear-templar in the eyes. One moment, she had been sobbing, and the next, she had started making terrible jokes - about cosmetics, of all things. No doubt, she sounded like a lunatic.

“Don’t mind me,” Kate said. “Robert was the humorist in the family. My jokes never quite hit the right note. Always a bit too dry and a bit too delayed. I suppose it’s a good thing I turned out to be a mage. It saved my family the trouble of disinheriting me.”

She gave the bear-templar a lopsided smile, but this only seemed to confuse him further. He glanced at her, then looked away, his brows furrowing more deeply as he frowned at the lake.

“Speaking of me being a mage,” Kate said, deciding to change the subject, “I owe you an answer, commander. About the mages and templars, that is.”

“Right,” he said, still looking out at the lake. “Yes, that’s… Yes.” He cleared his throat. “That’s what I came here to talk to you about.”

“You did,” Kate nodded. She, too, kept her attention focused on the scenery before them. “I meant what I said in my speech the other day. I mean to work with you - with all of you. You’ve been quite fair to me - the Inquisition has been quite fair to me - considering everything that happened.”

“We were fair to you eventually,” he said. “Not at first, I’m afraid.”

“You had good reason for that,” Kate said, shrugging. “A mage, falling bodily from the Fade? I would suspect me if I wasn’t me.” She then stopped and considered those words. “I’m not sure if that makes sense,” she muttered.

“It does makes sense,” the bear-templar assured her.

“But whatever happened,” Kate went on. “Whatever I do or don’t remember, I’m ready to help. And on that note,” she sighed, looking back toward the village, “I suppose I should get going.”

The bear-templar nodded. He seemed far more comfortable with this line of conversation than all her sobbing and confessions from before. Maker’s breath, Kate thought, she had truly made a hash of this conversation. Of all the members of the Inquisition, Kate had most wanted to impress the bear-templar.

She didn’t want to analyze _why_ this was so. She suspected that if she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that she still distrusted templars - even this one. Deep down, Kate still feared that if she showed any weakness, the templar in him might cut her down, like an apprentice at a failed Harrowing. Kate felt chilled by the very thought.

But actually, Kate realized, glancing over at the fellow, that was unfair. This man wasn’t cold and removed like other templars she’d met. He had been kind to her, putting up with her blubbering and everything. Kate now began to wonder why he’d become a templar in the first place. Maybe his family had forced him to join, like her family had tried to do with Robert. Kate was beginning to think he was one of those young, didn’t-fully-buy-into-the-Order types. She could appreciate that. It was the driven, high-ranking officers that you had to watch out for.

“Be careful out there,” he told her, drawing Kate out of her thoughts. “You’re heading into rough territory. The Hinterlands will be less civilized than what you’re used to.”

Kate couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“I imagine so,” she said, wiping the heel of her palm across her cheek to catch the last of the stray tears. “I suspect the Ferelden countryside is a good deal less tower-like than my usual environs.”

The bear-templar’s scarred lips twitched in amusement. “I suspect you’re right.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kate assured him. “As Herald, I get my own entourage. Cassandra will shield me as I fumble around in the woods. Solas will point my hand at rifts and offer all sorts of cryptic advice about the Veil. And Varric will do…whatever it is Varric does.”

“Record your history inaccurately?” he suggested, dryly.

“Oh,” Kate cringed. “I hope he doesn’t record me at all. That wouldn’t reflect well on me _or_ the Inquisition. But don’t worry. No matter what happens out there, I won’t shirk my duties. I intend to be the Inquisition’s most prolific, useful field agent, if only to avoid Leliana’s wrath.”

But this time, when she turned to smile at the bear-templar, he gave her a very strange sort of look.

“You know,” he said, slowly, “not everyone is expecting you to save the world. Some of us are just glad you’re willing to stick around.”

“Oh,” Kate said, softly.

That brought her up short. In that moment, she felt…

 _Gratitude_ , Kate told herself. That was what this feeling was. The bear-templar had treated Kate like she was a sane adult, even though she was certain she’d acted like an idiot. She attempted to smile at him in thanks, but when their eyes met, Kate felt her heart skip a beat. She only managed to blush instead.

* * *

Cullen had been trying to say something kind, but from the way the mage flushed and quickly looked away, he supposed he’d failed. Since sentimentality hadn’t worked for him, Cullen opted for practicality instead.

“I’ll keep an eye out for news of your cousin,” he told the Herald. “It may be bad news, but I imagine it would be better to know for certain.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. Her voice sounded a bit strangled. Cullen supposed she was about to start crying again.

“Would you like me to give you a moment alone before Cassandra comes looking for you?” he asked her.

The mage swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Alright,” Cullen replied. He turned to go, then looked back over his shoulder. To his surprise, the Herald was looking at him, and not the scenery.

“Take care of yourself out there, Trevelyan,” he told her.

To Cullen’s amusement, the Herald straightened and gave him a jaunty Free-Marcher salute. “Of course, commander,” she said. But as he turned to walk away, he thought he heard her murmur:

“Take care of yourself…Cullen.”


	19. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate breaks in her boots and sleeps in a tent.

As soon as Kate was alone again, she concentrated her efforts on calming herself. She dried her tears, and then she did her best to set aside the rather strange emotion she’d experienced when Cullen had smiled at her. For a moment there, she had felt the light, fluttery sensation that had accompanied her various teenage infatuations. The feeling was so sudden and unexpected, Kate had barely managed to stammer out a response, much less a proper goodbye.

But that being past, Kate wiped her eyes, lifted her chin, and then headed for the smithy. There, Cassandra and Solas and Varric were packing up their bags. Coll was present as well, with a great many potions. She shoved as many elfroot draughts into Kate’s bag as it would hold, and then handed Kate a bottle of sun ointment - ‘the better to keep yer face as pasty as yer arse,’ Coll told her. Coll then gave Kate a fierce hug, wiped a tear from her eye, and stalked away angrily.

“That’s one weird friend you have,” Varric remarked. “Then again, I’m not really one to judge.”

“She’s perfect,” Kate had told him, feeling a bit teary herself. But instead of crying in front of the others, she set off for the Penitent’s Path, and Kate focused the rest of her energy on hiking down the hill. It was a long way down - far longer than she had remembered, and by the time they reached Haven’s Landing, Kate’s feet were quite sore. She also suspected she was forming some blisters thanks to her new boots.

The afternoon saw them sailing across Lake Calenhad’s dark waters, headed for the southern shore. From there, they climbed up steep, winding paths to a narrow ridge, and arrived at the Inquisition scout camp just as the sun set. The view was amazing, Kate thought, looking out over the forested valleys. She was exhausted from all that walking, but the scenery was almost worth it.

Kate had thought she was a reasonably fit, outdoorsy sort of person. And she was - for a mage. But as she drew off her boots and took stock of her newly acquired blisters, Kate realized that daily walks and the occasional horse ride did _not_ an adventurer make. Kate was not used to marching, not used to long hours in the sun and she was _not_ used to camp food. The provisions of flat bread and dried apples did not entirely satisfy Kate’s hunger.

By the time she crawled into her tent - the tiny tent she was supposed to share with Cassandra _and_ Varric _and_ Solas - Kate had begun to rethink this Heralding business. She laid awake, tossing and turning on her cold, hard bed-roll, listening to Varric snore. And all the while, Kate wondered how on earth she was going to repeat this level of exertion on the following day.

She _might_ have thought of Cullen, too. Just a little.

But exhaustion claimed her at last, and Kate slept soundly for a few hours. She then woke, and realized she needed to use the necessary. The privy was just a hole in the ground, dewy and fragrant in the early morning air. She crouched and held her nose at the same time. She cleaned up as best she could - with _leaves_ , for the Maker’s sake, which was just really too much. Was this really what camping out was like, Kate wondered? She now understood the appeal of an inn - even the nug-infested variety.

By the time Kate returned to camp, she found the place in an uproar. The Crossroads were under attack, the scouts reported, and Mother Giselle was in danger.

Kate spotted Cassandra, Varric, and Solas, all gathering their weapons and gear. Kate joined them, and they all ran for the village as quickly as they could. Scrambling downhill along uneven paths tore open every blister on Kate’s feet, but she forced herself to ignore the pain.

Then, suddenly, Kate turned a corner and there they were at the Crossroads. It was barely even a village - just a few houses clustered around a signpost. And yet, it had already turned into a massacre.

There were bodies everywhere - slashed, burned, rotting. Kate saw templars attacking fleeing villagers, mages gleefully setting houses on fire as the people within shrieked in terror. It was so brutal and chaotic and violent, that for a moment, Kate just stared. Then Cassandra shouted a battle cry, and Kate found herself drawn back to the present. And though she had precious little battlefield experience, Kate joined the fray.

Actually, ‘joined the fray’ would be too generous a term for it. The mark on Kate’s hand still interfered with her magic, and Kate found she could draw only enough from the Fade for a simple barrier on Cassandra. As it turned out, hiding in the Seeker’s wake was a pretty effective strategy. Kate kept that barrier up as best she could, and if it was a lopsided sort of arrangement, at least it kept them both alive.

But then Cassandra charged off without her, and Kate found herself alone and depleted of energy. In that moment, one of the rebel templars spotted her. The knight turned to Kate with fury in his eyes and rushed her. Kate saw a raised sword, gleaming armor, and she froze in panic. But just as the man was about to strike, Solas appeared out of nowhere and fried up the templar with a single bolt of lightning.

Kate turned to Solas in surprise.

“Where did _that_ come from?” she blurted out, too startled to thank him properly.

“Like all magic, it came from the raw Fade,” Solas replied. He grabbed her marked hand and gave it a small shake. “Don’t fight it’s flow, Herald. Swim _with_ the stream.”

Kate stared after him as he returned to the fight. She was beginning to think that elf was a bit crazy, but curious now, she tried his advice all the same. When Kate reached for the Fade a moment later, she realized what Solas meant. Rather than scooping energy, Kate slid her next spell _into_ the Fade, as if slipping her hands underwater. She concentrated at a point halfway across the field, and…it worked. A templar suddenly screamed as a shell of ice snapped into place over his legs. He tried to run, but could not move. One of the Inquisition soldiers - a woman wearing a silver helmet and scout armor - took advantage of his paralyzed position. With one well-placed slice, she quickly divested the frozen templar of his head.

That woman turned out to be a good sort. As soon as the battle was over, she introduced herself as Ruvena, one of Cullen’s lieutenants. She took Kate to see Mother Giselle, who was, thankfully, unharmed. Kate spent some time speaking with the priestess - enough to decide that Giselle was both devout and kindhearted. Kate welcomed Giselle to Haven, the woman accepted, and for a fleeting moment, Kate thought that her job in the Hinterlands was done.

Of course, it wasn’t. As soon as Kate finished speaking with Mother Giselle, a young man came up to her, asking about food for the farmers and then there was another fellow who had some idea about finding blankets for the refugees and by the time the sun was overhead in the sky, Kate had learned that the situation in the Hinterlands was far worse than they had thought. The apostates and templars both had settled into separate camps in the wilds, and would continue to attack the villagers if nothing was done about them. There were bandits in the woods, rifts in the hills, and in addition to all that, another one of Cullen’s lieutenants had gone missing. According to Ruvena, a young man named Keran had been taken by the rogue templars.

When Ruvena told them about this, Varric sighed and shook his head.

“Captured by templars this time?” he asked. “What, were the bloodmages busy?”

“It’s not funny, dwarf,” Ruvena snapped back, and before Kate could ask what _that_ was all about, the woman turned to Kate with a pleading look.

“Please, Herald,” she begged. “I know I’m supposed to stay at my post, but this is personal. I need to bring Keran back and kill the bastards who took him.”

It seemed a reasonable request to Kate, and so she gave the order and they all set out at once. It wasn’t too difficult to track the templars. Unlike mages, who tended to keep a low profile until their spells started flying, the templars had no inclination to hide themselves. They had boldly marched through the woods, leaving heavy boot-prints everywhere. It took Varric and Solas only a few hours to hunt them down. It seemed the rebels had set themselves up on a high ridge that overlooked a ravine. It gave them a good view of the river and a narrow, steep approach to the camp.

Two well-placed and surprisingly discreet arrows from Varric felled the templars on watch at the base of the path and they crept up through the underbrush. Just as soon as they had settled behind a wooden palisade, another templar went striding into the clearing, only paces away.

Kate bit her lip to stifled a gasp. The man’s spattered armor was half-visible through the leaves and his eyes were blood-shot and wild. When he turned, his metal gauntlets glinted at Kate, and for some reason, the sight of them reminded her of Cullen.

Cullen wore very similar armor, Kate thought. And Cullen had been a templar just as this man was a templar. And yet, the two men couldn’t have been more different. Cullen was calm and kind, while this man…

This man was a murderer.

“Did you get it?”

Another templar appeared suddenly beside the first. Kate swallowed, feeling far too near and far too exposed. She wanted to run, but didn’t dare move a muscle.

“Didn’t get it,” the second templar replied, shaking his head. “Damn dwarves won’t budge.”

“Then we take it,” the first templar said, growling. “I can’t think without it. It’s too loud.”

 _Dwarves?_ Kate wondered. _Loud?_ Then realization dawned. _Lyrium,_ she thought. These templars were in the grip of withdrawals. No wonder they fought so wildly - and with such little skill. They were half-mad without their daily dose of the drug.

“There’s a source in the hills,” the second templar said. “But I’m thinkin’ some other templars got to the dwarves first. We’re gonna have to kill ‘em all for a cut.”

“Or we could ransom this one for some money,” the first fellow said, kicking at something on the ground. “Those heretics from Haven might pay for him.” When the lump rolled over, Ruvena hissed in a breath.

“Keran.”

Kate elbowed Ruvena in the ribs, but only succeeded in bruising herself on the soldier’s armor. Kate and Ruvena both shot each other a glance, but the templars were too out of it to notice the disturbance.

“The Herald ain’t going to pay for this fool,” the second templar scowled.

“Then what’s Hugh keepin’ him for?”

“Said they were friends once. Gonna try and turn ‘im.”

Kate had thought Ruvena looked angry before, but she hadn’t seen anything yet. Fury blazed in the woman’s eyes.

“Those sacks of shit,” she hissed.

“Ruvena!” Kate warned, but before Kate could stop her, the lieutenant shot forward, charging the clearing.

“Try and turn _this_ , you bastards!” she shouted.

Holy Maker, Kate thought. The woman thought nothing of charging _two_ templars. Thankfully, Ruvena had more than just a hobbled herald at her side. Cassandra roared and burst from the trees, clearly glad for an opportunity to join the fight.

The Seeker and soldier slammed into the templars in unison. As Kate frantically threw a weak barrier spell over them, three more templars charged the clearing. Kate tried to gather her magic again, but at that moment, three lightning bolts shot up from the ground, skewering each of the newcomers. They wriggled like fish caught on spears. A trio of arrows whistled out from behind a tree stump, taking advantage of the immobile, closely grouped targets. One hit a templar in the leg, the other in the chest, and the third templar was shot through the throat.

As Kate watched, Cassandra and Ruvena took out the first two templars in almost identical attacks. Both of them bashed the templars with their shields, then slashed at the men’s necks. Kate was awed by the sheer strength of the two. Cassandra severed her opponent’s head from his shoulders. Ruvena, who was carrying a much shorter sword, stabbed her templar through the jugular. He went down in a burbling fountain of blood.

Another templar burst into the clearing, rushing for Cassandra. Kate tried to summon a spell to aid the Seeker, but no sooner did Kate reach for the Fade than she found her magic was blocked. The Veil now felt solid, like ice over flowing water. Kate’s left hand began sparking in response.

 _Damn templars,_ Kate thought, scowling. Even low on lyrium, they could stopper up a mage’s magic. And now Kate had nothing but her staff to fight with.

No, not just her staff, Kate realized. She raised her left hand, shouting the loudest battle cry she could muster. It sounded rather silly to Kate’s ears, but it was effective. As she had anticipated, the wounded templars turned to stare at her, thinking her mark had resisted their dispel. At the same moment, Kate pointed her staff at one of the attacking templar’s, and shot a shard of ice neatly into his eyes.

It was a pretty dirty trick, really. And yet, Kate didn’t regret it for a second. She wasn’t about to play fair with an addled, lyrium-hungry templar. Her feint was all that Cassandra needed. The Seeker spun around and smashed into the attacking knight. More arrows flew, more lightning speared down from the clear sky, and Ruvena finished off the final templar with a fierce slash. Kate blinked and looked around, taking in the gruesome scene. Blood pooled all around her, reeking of iron and the damp, deep-cave smell of lyrium.

“Is that all of them?” Kate asked.

“I’ll check,” Cassandra said. “You see to the boy.”

Ruvena didn’t need to be told twice. She ran to Keran’s side, gently rolling him over onto his back.

“Oh, shit,” the woman murmured. “Herald! He’s alive, but he’s not waking up.”

“I’m coming,” Kate said, heading in her direction. “Make sure we’re safe here,” she told Varric and Solas. They both nodded and followed after Cassandra.

“What’s wrong with him?” Ruvena demanded, as Kate crouched down over the young man.

“I’m not sure,” Kate replied. It then occurred to her that she probably should have kept Solas around for his healing abilities. Kate wasn’t much of a healer to begin with. With the weirdness of her mark and the lingering suppression of the Fade, she could manage little more than a pain-relief spell. She pressed her glowing hands to Keran’s chest, but this only caused him to groan and turn his head to one side.

“Was that supposed to _do_ something?” Ruvena asked, frowning at her. “Heal him already!”

“I’m _trying_ to,” Kate said irritably. “My magic is…” She glanced at Ruvena’s worried expression, then decided not to waste time making excuses for herself. Instead, Kate reached for her belt and drew out one of Coll’s elfroot potions.

Kate carefully lifted Keran’s head, then poured the potion down his throat. She sent up a quick prayer that this would work, and it seemed that for once, the Maker was listening. The young man blinked up at them with wide blue eyes, then began coughing.

“R-Ruvena?” he rasped, when he had use of his voice again.

The other soldier gave him a relieved smile.

“Maker’s breath, Keran. One kidnapping wasn’t enough for a lifetime? Wanted another crack at it?”

“This has happened before?” Kate asked.

“Yes,” Ruvena said, nodding down at the young man. “He’s an idiot.”

“Oh, thanks for that,” Keran said, coughing. “It wasn’t on purpose. I saw Hugh. He was right near the village and I thought… We _knew_ him, Ruvena.”

“You knew one of these templars?” Kate asked, frowning. How awful, Kate thought, to know one of these people from before, and then lose them to this madness.

“What, you thought you could reason with him just because you knew him?” Varric wandered back into the clearing, snorting at Keran’s words. “Never works in the stories and it sure doesn’t work in real life.”

“He was a friend once,” Keran said, defensively.

“Well damn him to the abyss,” Ruvena snapped. “We’ve been tracking these templars for the better half of the day, and they’re all sacks of shit. The Herald can attest to that.”

Kate wouldn’t have put it in _quite_ so colorful of terms, but yes, she could attest to that. At the mention of Kate’s title, Keran’s eyes went wide.

“The Herald?” he asked, trying to sit up. “ _You’re_ the Herald?”

Kate wrinkled her nose. “So they keep saying.”

“The glowing hand kind of gives it away,” Varric quipped.

“I’m so sorry, Herald,” Keran said, ignoring Varric’s witticism. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that we heard…”

“We heard a lot of rubbish,” Ruvena filled in for him. “Stuff about you being a murderer - then about you being a saint. But whatever _they_ say, you proved yourself today, Herald.” She gave Kate a short nod, then turned to Keran. “She cleaned out the Crossroads, Keran. Our soldiers are alive because of her.”

“They’re alive because of the Inquisition,” Kate said. “My magic isn’t much good in a fight just now.”

“It was useful enough,” Ruvena said. “Magic that helps is good magic.” She cast Keran a warning look.

“Of course,” Keran said, quickly. “I wasn’t taking issue with the rescue party. We may have been templars once, but I have no problem with mages like you, Herald.”

“Wait,” Kate blinked at them. “You were templars? Both of you?”

“Yeah,” Varric answered for them. “They were templars. The not-crazy kind, as you can see.”

Maker, Kate thought. First Cullen, now these two. Who would have guessed that there were so many former templars in the Inquisition ranks? It did explain Ruvena’s skill with a blade, however. Kate was beginning to think that if she ever wanted to become a warrior, Chantry training was the way to go.

At that moment, Cassandra returned. The Seeker stomped into the clearing, a look of pure disgust on her face. Solas followed behind, looking more solemn than usual.

“Cowards,” Cassandra snapped.

“I’m sorry,” Kate frowned, her brows drawing together. “I thought you had things well in hand. I didn’t know you wanted us to follow you.”

“I _did_ have things well in hand,” Cassandra replied. “I didn’t mean you, Herald. I meant these templars. No,” she scowled. “Not even templars. They are unworthy of the title. These men are _rogues_.” She said this as if it were the worst insult she could think of.

“Are the rest of them dead?” Ruvena asked.

“Well, at least we saved someone,” Varric said, nodding his head at Keran. “Nothing but corpses back there.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder.

“There has been too much life taken this day,” Solas said, shaking his head sadly. “It seems these templars have no law but hate.”

“The apostates haven’t been much better,” Ruvena snapped, glaring at the elf.

“Enough,” Kate said, cutting them both off. “These people are attacking innocents, and they all need to be stopped. It doesn’t matter which side they came from.”

There was a moment in which everyone just stared at Kate in silence. Then Varric snorted, and muttered:

“A voice of reason. And in the middle of an Inquisition, too. Who would have thought?”

Cassandra scowled at the dwarf, but Kate quickly held out a hand.

“This has gotten to all of us,” she said. “Let’s just get Keran back to the Crossroads. We can set out for the apostate stronghold from there.”

“The apostates?” Solas asked her, his eyes narrowing.

“Once they learn the templars are dead, they’ll try to press their advantage,” Kate pointed out. “We can try to reason with them, but…”

She didn’t bother to finish that sentence. They all knew that reasoning with the apostates would go over as well as reasoning with the templars.

“You’d fight your own?” Keran asked Kate, his brows furrowing.

“My own what?” Kate blinked at him, not quite understanding the question.

“Your fellow mages,” the young man clarified.

Kate snorted in disgust. “I think we’ve established that these mages are not _mine_ any more than these templars are _yours,_ ” she replied. “Come on.”

Kate tried to help Ruvena haul Keran to his feet, but in armor, the man was awfully heavy. Cassandra hurried to his side and the two female warriors helped Keran stagger away from the clearing and down the path. Kate stood there feeling a bit foolish. Kate had known she wasn’t very physically strong, but she’d never been so aware of it as she was now.

Solas fell in line behind the warriors, and Kate and Varric followed after. They had only walked a few paces when Varric turned to Kate with a bemused smile.

“You know,” the dwarf said, “I wasn’t so sure about you when we met, but now I can safely say that I’m glad _you’re_ the one in charge.”

“I’m not in charge,” Kate replied, feeling a bit self-conscious. “I’m just the woman with the mark.”

“You also have some useful magic,” Varric pointed out. “And the ability to tell people what they need to hear. That’s rarer than you think.”

“I doubt that,” Kate said. “Well,” she amended, “I believe in the power of well-crafted words. I’m just not sure that’s a gift I have. Still, it’s kind of you to say so.”

“I’m not being kind,” Varric said. “I have many vices, but flattery isn’t one of them. Consider this my warning.”

“Warning?” Kate frowned. “Of what?”

“Of where it goes from here. I’ve seen this all before, Herald of Andraste. The stuff you’re doing? Taking out the bad guys, closing rifts, hell, just getting shit done? This is how legends get started, mark my words. I predict that by the time we get done here in the Hinterlands, they’re going to be singing your praises.”

“I sincerely hope you’re joking, Varric.”

“Not at all,” the dwarf replied. “These people already think you’re sent from the Maker. You keep helping people out like this and it’s only going to get worse. I’m just saying,” he added pushing back a branch, “You’d better brace yourself. I’m kind of getting the impression that you don’t like being the center of attention.”

“I don’t,” Kate said.

“Well,” Varric laughed. “Better get used to it.”


	20. Visitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robert has escape in mind

In general, Robert was happiest when he was the center of attention. Short of that, he preferred being in the middle of a loud party. In a pinch, Robert could stand to sit by and watch other people have a good time, but Robert hated being alone.

Actually, Robert thought, this was worse than being alone. There was someone out there in that low, foggy passageway before him, but Robert hadn’t spotted the bloke yet. He kept hearing a hissing voice echo through the fog, but he couldn’t quite tell where the sound was coming from. Creepier still, Robert felt certain that someone was watching him. And it wasn’t the pleasant, pretty-woman-making-eyes-at-you-from-across-the-inn sort of watching. This was more like an I’ll-shiv-you-in-the-guts-when-you-step-into-the-alley-to-take-a-piss sort of watching, and Robert didn’t like it. This room was far too dark and foggy to be certain which direction his assailants might be coming from. He wasn’t even sure where he was, exactly, or how he’d gotten here.

The last that Robert remembered, he’d been rattling around in the bottom of a cart, surrounded by sheep and bags of food. Robert had woken up just long enough to spot Freddy, walking alongside the wagon. The bastard then drugged Robert again, and Robert remembered nothing more of his journey.

Now, however, Robert had a good chance of escape. He had woken this time to find himself alone, his bonds had been cut, and he was… Well, he had no idea _where_ he was, really. It looked a bit like a dungeon, for there were stone arches all around, holding up a low ceiling. The corridor seemed to go on forever. As for the ground, it was springy, like turf, and covered with a low, oily-looking fog that appeared to bubble up from underfoot. Yet, when Robert reached down to feel the ground, it felt smooth and cold like rock.

It was, Robert had expertly concluded, very odd. He suspected that whatever he’d been drugged with was still in his system. But as he was moving forward, he didn’t worry about that too much. He was more worried about running into the person whose voice echoed down the dark passage. The voice sounded like the slithering of snakes - or a rat’s feet scrabbling over stones.

Robert was now thinking that all his previous escape experience wasn’t going to translate very well to his particular situation. Robert had sneaked in and out of a few bedrooms. He’d even gotten himself free of silken ties a time or two. But this underground labyrinth was taxing all his sense of direction (virtually non-existent) and all his stores of patience (likewise, meager). He was growing quite annoyed now, for he half suspected he’d been wandering around in circles for…

Huh, Robert thought, his feet slowing to a stop. How long _had_ he been down here? The only light in this place was dim and greenish and gave no sense of the days passing. But surely he couldn’t have been here for long, Robert reasoned. He wasn’t hungry or thirsty and was not at all tired. In fact, he felt sort of weightless. That, too, was likely a lingering effect of Freddy’s drugs. Added to all that, this damn song was stuck in his head. He kept thinking he knew the tune, but he couldn’t recall the words. It was a haunting melody, and it did nothing to improve the mood of this dreary dungeon or sewer or whatever the hell he was wandering around in.

Just then, Robert heard the echoing voice again, like rustling in dry grass. But this time, the passing words were hissed directly into his hear.

_Show me…_

Robert spun around, reaching for an arrow, only to find he carried no weapon.

_Show me…_

“Who’s there?” Robert demanded. He peered into the darkness, but saw nothing. “Who _are_ you?”

“Who _are_ you?” Robert’s own voice echoed back from the endless corridors, yet it seemed to have taken on a second sound. The reverberation added an eerie quality to it, as if someone else was asking that question.

What a horrible place, Robert thought. The song continued to play in his mind, tantalizingly familiar, and yet just beyond recollection.

 _Show me who you **are**_. The echoing voice hissed over the top of the melody.

And then, quite suddenly, the song in Robert’s mind had words. A whole verse unfurled in his mind, as if it were a bit of string that had suddenly become untangled.
    
    
    I am the maid
    Who draws the waves
    Down every shipwreck's side.
    I seek the one
    Who curse-marked me
    And cost my true love's life.
    
    

Right, Robert thought, with a sudden pang. _That_ was how the song went. It was one of those awful sailor ballads about a beautiful woman who died at sea for no reason whatsoever. For reasons Robert could not fathom, his mother used to sing it as a lullaby. And for reasons he could not fathom, the song suddenly brought a vision with it.

Suddenly, Robert was _there_ again. Or rather, he was _then._

All at once, the dreary corridor faded from his sight, and Robert stood in Trevelyan House, in the hallway outside his uncle Maxwell’s study. The paneled walls about him were polished and bright, and outside the windows, the sun was shining just like it had on that awful day. And somehow, Robert knew exactly what day it was, as if he’d been given a script for this scene and was now just following along.

He watched as his father and his uncle Maxwell walked right by him and into the open doorway. He watched as his uncle poured two tumblers of Starkhaven whiskey, and offered Robert’s father a drink. Robert watched as his father tossed the thing back in one gulp, then handed Uncle Maxwell the glass. And as the two men began speaking, Robert was so caught up in the memory that he didn’t even think to wonder how this was happening or where the dark corridor had gone.

“She’s not coming back,” Uncle Maxwell said. Uncle’s voice sounded familiar, and yet, somehow, it wasn’t quite the same. The words were strangely distorted, as if spoken by two throats.

“It doesn’t matter,” came the reply. Robert’s father spoke in the same two-voiced way. “The marriage stands and the alliance is secure. That’s all that matters.”

Robert was less struck by the strange resonance of their voices as by how much these men looked like each other. They were both very tall, with broad, straight shoulders that would never bow to anything - not joy, not grief, not anger or pain.

“And her new lover?” Robert heart Uncle Maxwell say.

“He’s a boy with no prospects,” his father replied coolly. “They require an income, not a marriage.”

“So we provide her with an allowance and that’s the end of it?”

“She understands the situation. So does her family. And the Antivan contacts have seen all this before. What matters is that our family names are connected. No one cares whose bed she’s sleeping in.”

Robert swallowed, and a dark, oily sort of feeling slid around inside of his stomach. As a child, he’d only vaguely understood what had happened that day. Now, he heard these words with the mind of a man. And yet, in a way, he also heard them with the heart of a child.

“And you?”

Robert held his breath, waiting for the answer. He watched as his father shrugged. He watched as his father turned away, watched for a flash of hurt or pain or any emotion at all. Robert saw nothing but cold disdain.

“Lends a bit of Orlesian flair to the whole thing, don’t you think?” his father asked, dryly. “That can only help our standing with the investors from Val Royeaux.”

Robert felt anger bubble up within him at his father’s cool sarcasm. It was like father couldn’t even care enough to hate her. Robert had inherited that same quick wit, but in this moment, he hated his father for it. But what made Robert really furious was that he knew what came next. He braced himself as Uncle Maxwell turned to his father and asked:

“What about the boy?”

Robert felt small now - so very small. He was so little that his father and his uncle couldn’t even see him here. They hadn’t seen him - not on that day, not now. Surely father couldn’t have said it and known that Robert was listening.

“The boy?” his father asked. “What about him?”

Uncle Maxwell turned to pour another pair of whiskeys. “I just wondered what you planned to do with him. With his mother gone…”

“I don’t see any need to change his living arrangements,” Robert heard his father say. “Unless it will be a problem to keep him here. I suppose I can speak to the Chantry about taking him earlier than anticipated.”

Damn it all, Robert thought. It was like father was discussing how to best pack his luggage.

“There’s no need for that,” Robert heard his uncle say. “Robert and Katerina spend most of their time running the grounds or climbing trees. I never see them. Those two are thick as thieves.”

“They are that,” Robert heard his father say. He didn’t sound especially pleased about it, but then, father never seemed pleased by anything.

“You’re sure the boy’s mother won’t come for him?”

Robert sucked in a breath, for he knew what the answer would be. His father snorted, showing a brief flash of one emotion at least. That emotion was clearly disgust.

“I asked her that,” his father said.

“And?”

“And she said she wouldn’t wish to deprive me of the only proof that we’d ever had relations at all.”

“Shocking,” Uncle Maxwell muttered. “No sense of propriety.”

“And _this_ is why I won’t be going after her. Everything has turned out for the best. I’m quite pleased, really.”

Father gave a thin smile, said ‘cheers,’ and downed his drink. At the same moment, Robert saw the scene fall away. He felt as though he was shrinking, growing smaller and smaller still. He was tiny as a mouse now, curled up on the…

On the stone floor of a dungeon.

Robert blinked, looking around. He was in a proper dungeon, now - inside a cell, even, looking out through a grid of metal bars. He was most certainly _not_ in Trevelyan House, Robert realized. And he was a grown man again, not a child, for all that he was getting all weepy like one. Blast it, Robert thought, blinking back tears. Where the _hell_ had that memory come from? And why had it seemed so real?

 _This_ was why he always avoided being alone, Robert thought angrily. This was why he far preferred the noise of a tavern to the noise inside his head. The quiet made him think of how he was always being left behind.

Annoyed, Robert shoved at the door of the cell, but of course, it didn’t budge. He was locked in, it seemed, and that made him wonder just how long he’d been lying here, hallucinating.

Suddenly, that snaky voice was in his head again, all scaly and dry and shifting:

_Katerina left you, too. Didn’t she?_

Robert froze. Well, maybe the hallucinations weren’t over yet, he thought. The visions were gone, but the echo remained. But this voice - imagined or not - was spouting utter rubbish. Robert knew that Kate hadn’t left him. She’d been taken away - taken away screaming and crying and casting spells all over place. Uncle Max had been beside himself, wondering how he would get all that ice cleaned off of the front steps.

 _No,_ the slithering voice said. _Katerina left, just as your mother left. And don’t you hate your cousin for it?_

No, Robert thought, frowning. No, he didn’t hate Kate. Kate was probably the _only_ relative he didn’t hate in some way or other.

 _Lies!_ the hissing voice said. _Let me _see_ her!_

But just as Robert was beginning to wonder how long these drug-induced visions would last, another voice started talking.

“Ice on the roses,” someone said, soft and low and urgent. “Ice on the fountain and the doorframe and the carriage window. But the house went cold the moment the morning sun melted away her magic.”

Ooookay, Robert thought, looking up at the ceiling of his cell. This was getting very weird. Evidently, the templars had decided to loosen Robert up with their drugs and _then_ they planned to do that ‘sifting’ thing that Freddy had talked about.

“Not sifting but searching.” It was the soft voice now, the one that sounded more like a poem than a snake. “You’re hurting, hungry, hasty. What happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?”

For a split second, Robert could have sworn he was alone in the dungeon, listening to disembodied voices. But then he blinked and someone was actually there - standing on the other side of the bars. The someone appeared to be a boy in rags, who wore an enormous hat.

“How long have you been here?” Robert demanded, shooting to his feet.

“It’s…hard to say,” the boy replied. “Time isn’t the same in here.”

He spoke from under the brim of his hat, so that Robert couldn’t see his face. But the boy didn’t have reddened veins on his hands or any visible weapons, so Robert supposed that was a mark in his favor.

“What happened to the templars?” Robert demanded. “Are they still out there?”

“Yes,” the boy replied. “I followed them, but they didn’t know I was there. They can’t see me, not as they are. Red, raw, roaring. Old songs splintered with old rage. It broods and breeds and bruises, blighted and blistering. Never again quiet. Never again still. Why won’t the singing _stop_?”

Robert cocked his head to one side. “Uh…”

He had nothing to say to that. Robert licked his lips, trying to formulate a polite way of asking, ‘is there something wrong with you?’ when the boy raised his head. Robert looked into the boy’s wide, overly-bright blue eyes, and realization struck.

The boy was mad. Clearly. Robert had no clue how or why the crazy boy had wandered into this dungeon. Yet, it struck Robert as oddly fitting, given his recent run of bad luck. He had been hoping for help, and the only person in sight was the village idiot.

“This is not a village,” the boy said. “It’s you.”

Robert frowned. Had he said that aloud? Oh well. The boy hadn’t seemed to take offense.

“Look, um…boy,” Robert said, aiming for politeness. “Can you help me get out of here?”

“Yes,” the boy replied. He almost made it sound like a question, but at least he’d answered in the affirmative. Robert sighed with relief. Robert’s smile quickly faded, however, for the boy didn’t move a muscle. He remained on the other side of the bars, standing perfectly still. It didn’t even look like he was breathing.

“Right,” Robert said. “Now, this is the part where you help me find a way to open this door.”

“That won’t do you any good,” the boy said. “You have to get out, first.”

“Yeesss…” Robert drew the word out very slowly. “I have to get out first. That’s the point.”

“But you’re still _in_ ,” the boy said.

Robert raised a brow. “You don’t say.”

“You have to break free,” the boy said. “Then you have to _stay_ free. If you slip, he’ll find you, bind you, make you _in_ again. The longer you’re in, the less you’re out. The belly gnaws with hunger, but the mouth can’t feed.”

Robert gritted his teeth and tried again: “If you could just find me a hairpin or something, then I can pick the lock.”

“I gave all the hairpins to the woman who ran away. She needed them to hide her hair in the blacksmith’s hat.”

“Of course you did,” Robert muttered. Alright. It seemed that asking the crazy boy for help was a mistake after all.

“You have to hurry,” the boy said, urgently. “He wants to hold you, grip you, break you…”

“No one is going to break me,” Robert said firmly, shivering at the boy’s creepy, cryptic words. “If I can get out of this cell and find a bow and some arrows, I can handle the rest.”

“You can’t shoot an arrow into your own head,” the boy replied, looking distraught now. “That won’t help at all.”

“Shoot an arrow into my…” Robert gave up. “Look, please just find me a bit of metal or something - _anything_ \- that could fit in that lock.”

“Only you fit into the lock,” the boy replied.

Robert looked down at his body - all six and a half feet of it - and then rolled his eyes. “Oh for the love of the Golden City,” he muttered.

“He doesn’t love the Golden City,” the boy said, nervously. “He hates it. He ran from it. That’s why he wants you. He wants to sort you, search you, _learn_ you. But you can endure that. You did just now, you see.”

“I…” Robert stared at the boy. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t see. Alright, never mind. I’ll let you go and do…whatever it was you were doing before you came down here.”

“But you wanted company,” the boy told him. “You were lonely.”

Robert opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“I heard you,” the boy continued. “You’re quieter than them, hard to hear over their pain. A boy in a corridor: small, silent, solemn. Longing for laughter when every mouth was folded in a frown.”

Robert licked his lips and opened his mouth again. It was no use. He still couldn’t think of anything to say to this oddly insightful lunatic.

“It’s lonely here,” the boy told him, sadly. “That’s why you avoid being inside, why you make it loud outside so the laughter filters in. But you don’t have to be afraid of this place. I can guard you. I can guide you. When he presses in, I can help you find the loopholes. Every mind has back doors. Look for them. Learn them.”

“See here,” Robert said, determined to get some sense or help out of this boy if it was the last thing he did. “Just help me find a lock pick and…”

“I found this,” the boy said. He held out his hand. In it lay a shiny red apple.

“I’m not hungry,” Robert said.

As soon as he said that, the words struck Robert as strange. He was always hungry.

“Follow your hunger,” the boy urged him. “Real hunger, true hunger, is meant to be filled. Some longings are lovely. They lead to better things.”

“Better things,” Robert repeated.

“ _His_ longing is violent, vengeful,” the boy said, quietly. “Dark, dangerous, dragging-down desires. He wants to deny you so that he can feed.”

Robert had no idea what that meant. All he knew was that as he stared at that apple, he seemed to remember…hunger. He remembered how good it felt to eat something after a long day of travel, and as he stared at that apple, the walls around him seemed to melt. The boy held the fruit perfectly still. A statue couldn’t have been that still, Robert thought. And then, quite suddenly, there was a snarl. It sounded like the snaky voice of before. Then there was a bursting sort of sensation, and Robert sat up with a start.

Robert blinked his eyes once, twice, and looked around in surprise. The world felt…real. Well, more real, rather. The hazy half-light from before had become real moonlight trickling down from a high window overhead.

Robert now saw that he was in a cell, in a dungeon, and most decidedly alone. There was no foggy corridor, no polished hallway, only damp stone walls about him and a metal door to keep him penned. Robert tried rattling the door of his cage, but it didn’t budge. And it was one of those old Antivan-style locks, too. They were tricky to pick, even if Robert had a proper set of tools on him. Just to be sure, he checked his pockets. No, he found. He had nothing on him but his clothes.

But at least the slithering voice was gone, Robert thought. The big-hat boy was gone, too, which made Robert feel a bit lonely. He really had been drugged too long, Robert thought, if he was willing to stoop to imagined company. He was also ravenously hungry, he now realized. His stomach growled so badly that it actually hurt. What he would not give for that dream-apple now, Robert thought.

Then, as he peered out into dungeon, something caught Robert’s eye.

There was the apple. It was red and shining and so like his dream that Robert drew back a little. Lying beside the apple was a loaf of bread. It smelled hot and yeasty and there was a hunk of cheese out there, too. For a moment Robert wondered if he ought to eat it, but that moment quickly passed. One should never turn down a good Ferelden cheese, even if it was lying on the damp floor of a dungeon. Robert eagerly reached through the bars, grabbing each item and carefully setting it into his lap. Robert was just thinking that he wished he had something to drink with all this food, when a tankard had appeared outside of his cell. Robert blinked. He must have missed it before. He reached for the mug eagerly, hoping it contained a good Denerim lager.

It was milk, Robert realized in disappointment. He drew the mug through the bars of his cell carefully, so as not to spill a single drop. Robert stared at the meal, feeling wary, but thankful that someone had seen fit to feed him. He would have preferred some lock picks, honestly, but food was necessary, too. Robert wondered for a moment if he was still dreaming, but he wasn’t going to argue with Ferelden cheese. He set into his food and began to eat.

And yet, as he ate, Robert could not shake the feeling that the walls were closing in around him. He tried to ignore it, but the dark pressure of the empty dungeon rested over him like a great, damp hand. For a moment, Robert thought there were eyes watching him from the corner - and not vacant blue ones. But when he looked in that direction, Robert saw no one there. Doing his best to ignore all this, Robert shivered and returned to his meal.

He hated being alone.


	21. Subtext

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate receives a nickname and reads between the lines

Kate pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders as she walked out into the night. It was growing cold under the trees, but right now all Kate wanted was a moment alone.

It was incredible how two weeks could change so much, she thought. When she had first arrived at the Crossroads, Kate had been too afraid of the wilderness to head out into the darkness alone. But now that the Hinterlands were finally secure, Kate welcomed the quiet of the woodland night. She continued along the well-worn path up the hill, until she came to a low stone wall that ringed a little clearing among the trees. Judging by the smooth stones set at intervals in the grass, it was a graveyard. Far from finding that alarming, Kate welcomed the quiet company of the resting dead.

Kate hopped up on the wall, letting her feet dangle down, the toes of her boots touching the top of the long grass. Startled by her sudden arrival, a little fennec went dashing off across the clearing. Kate watched him go, his large ears like little silver sails in the moonlight.

“I still can’t believe it,” Kate heard someone say. The voice was loud in the still of the night. “I was comin’ down from the scout camp this afternoon, and I watch the Herald of Andraste head out huntin’. But she doesn’t just shoot a bow like any normal body would. No, no. She uses her _magic_ to flash freeze a mess of rams. Big ones, too. Just one after the other, she freezes ‘em right in their tracks. Then she and that Seeker pack ‘em onto their horses, and bring ‘em into town, all fresh and ready to eat and easy as you please. Like they was deliverin’ from the butcher. The peasants were so stunned, you could have knocked ‘em over with a feather.”

From the creak of armor and the heavy plod of boots, Kate guessed that a couple of watchmen were passing by on their patrol. She didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t very well sneak away without drawing attention to herself. So instead, she carefully tucked her hand behind her back, just in case it started glowing, and sat very still as the guards walked by.

“Corporal Vale was beside himself, rushing to thank ‘er,” the other man agreed. “Think he fancies her, I do.”

 _Oh Andraste, please no,_ Kate thought, cringing. Vale was nice enough, but he looked at her in that nervous, worshipful way that just made her feel strange. It was like he saw her as a Chantry statue, and not an actual person.

“With what she’s done, I think _I_ could fancy her a little,” the first guard said. “If I can get fresh ram sandwich now and again, I’d be willin’ to overlook the freckles and the boy-hair.”

 _Oh, well, don’t do me any favors,_ Kate thought, rolling her eyes.

“Never thought a mage would help anyone,” the second fellow said. “Don’t care for naught but their own troubles, they don’t.”

Kate frowned at that. She didn’t like hearing mages disparaged, but she had to admit there was something to the man’s words. Fighting the apostates had been awful - at least as bad as taking down the rogue templars. And the rebel mages - those Circle refugees who had neither gone crazy nor died at the Conclave - _they_ had all holed themselves up in Redcliffe Village and refused to come out. Kate had thought she could convince them to join the Inquisition, but they hadn’t even the grace to tell her ‘no.’ When Kate knocked at the village gates, they ignored her completely.

For the past day, Kate had been mulling over that setback. She’d also been mulling over the entire mage-templar problem, wondering how things had come to such a state, wondering where the Chantry had gone so wrong. Of course, Kate hadn’t come up with anything useful or conclusive from these musing. All she had managed to do was sadden herself.

“Mage or no,” the first guard said, from further off now. “The Herald is bringing Andraste’s light to these parts. She’s doing the Maker’s work for these poor sots…” His voice trailed off as the conversation traveled out of earshot.

 _The Maker’s work,_ Kate thought, sighing. No, the Inquisition soldiers were the heroes here. Kate was just the mage with the mark.

It really wasn’t right, she thought. It wasn’t right that a squabble between mages and templars made casualties out of innocent farmers. It it also wasn’t right that Kate’s paltry efforts on the farmers’ behalf should earn her so much gratitude. Their work here had been difficult and bloody, and not at all like bringing light to the darkness.

And yet, Kate thought, maybe that’s what bringing light was all about. Maybe it _was_ dirty and messy and far more physical than she had expected. She hadn’t brought certainty or prophesy like Andraste had, but Kate had brought food and bedrolls. She’d helped kill demons and she’d closed rifts. Maybe that was enough. Maybe, Kate supposed, the best thing one could do to spread the Chant of Light was just to shut up and hand out some bread.

“Hey. You alright?”

Kate turned at the sound. Unlike the other speakers, this voice had become quite familiar to Kate by now.

“Hello Varric,” she said.

“Just came to check on you. You okay, Duchess?”

“Duchess?” Kate repeated. “No, I’m just a lady. Besides, it’s Wycome that has a duke. In Ostwick, we have banns.”

Varric shook his head. “It’s a nickname,” he explained. “I could call you ‘Worship’ like everyone else, but that’s not really my style.”

“Or you could call me ‘Kate,’” she suggested.

“That’s _really_ not my style,” Varric laughed. “So tell me, Duchess. What’s bothering you? You seemed worn out this evening. More so than usual, I mean.”

“I just needed some space.”

Kate hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but the words slipped out before she could think better of it. She sighed and looked down at her hands. In the moonlight, they were pale and the mark didn’t even shimmer.

“Ah,” Varric said, knowingly. “Understood. Want me to leave you alone, then?”

“No, that’s fine,” Kate told him, hastily. “I don’t mind your company, Varric. It’s just the, um…”

“The adoring crowds that you could do without?” he suggested. As he spoke, he turned and leaned his back against the wall on which Kate sat.

Kate gave him a rueful smile. “Just so.”

“If you didn’t want the crowds, then I don’t know why we decided to stay the night at the Crossroads. Even the cultists weren’t as weird around you as these villagers are.”

“They did offer us beds,” Kate reminded him. “Real ones. And I’m pretty tired of sleeping on the ground. It’s so hard and…ground-like.”

“So what were we doing setting up camps all over the place for?” Varric wanted to know.

“To garner influence or…something,” Kate shrugged. “To tempt bears into attacking us? I forget. Anyhow, we head for Haven in the morning.”

“Right,” Varric nodded. “The message from Nightingale. They need you back at the war table for…?” He glanced over at her expectantly.

“Leliana didn’t say,” Kate replied, rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger.

“Heh,” Varric snorted. “She wouldn’t. I’m hoping she wants to reward us for our hard work with a pint at the tavern. Maybe a week’s furlough. You think?”

“Doubtful,” Kate said, smiling. “But at least wherever they send us next, we can ride there instead of walking.”

Of course, Kate thought, that would likely just make her rear end sore instead of her feet.

“Egh,” Varric grimaced. “Don’t remind me about those beasts. That thing you picked up for me is a druffalo, I swear.”

“It is not,” Kate said, laughing. “It’s a pony.”

“It’s a druffalo,” Varric insisted. “I think Fereldens take pride in making all their animals bigger than they ought to be, just to mess with the Orlesians.”

Kate chuckled. The horses they’d borrowed from the local farmers _were_ enormous beasts. But Master Dennet had promised Kate that if she could help him build some watchtowers and set up regular patrols through the Hinterlands, he’d find her something a bit speedier. Kate was willing to take that deal.

“You know though,” Varric said, nodding down the hill at the village lights, “I _did_ call this, if you remember.”

“Call it?” Kate asked him. “What do you mean, you called it?”

“I said you’d be a legend, and I was right,” Varric said, folding his arms over his chest. “You give them some ram’s meat, and the next thing you know, you called down venison from the heavens. You take out a qunari Arishok in hand-to-hand combat, and next thing you know, you’re the Champion.”

“If you are implying that my story is anything like Hawke’s,” Kate said, very precisely, “Then I thank you for the compliment, but I’ll happily pass on that comparison.”

“Aw, come on,” Varric said. “Hawke’s story wasn’t that bad.”

Kate shot him a doubtful look.

“Hey,” Varric shrugged. “Hawke was a hero. She saved the day. Okay, alright, it wasn’t the cheeriest ending. But she survived, at least.”

“She barely escaped Kirkwall with her life,” Kate pointed out. “And you never did say if she and her lover, Anders, were still together at the end of it all.”

“You read my books?” Varric asked, deftly avoiding her question about Anders. Kate cast him a sidelong glance, but she didn’t press him, either.

“I think every mage in the world read it, if they could get their hands on it,” Kate replied. “We all wanted to know what had happened - and then, frankly, we couldn’t put it down. It was fascinating, and quite well written, too.”

“You flatter me,” Varric said, but his tone said he was loving it.

“Of course,” Kate nodded. “You’re an author. I plan to stay on your good side.”

“Ah, see,” Varric chuckled and wagged a stubby finger at her. “I knew I liked you, Duchess.”

“Well, that’s one companion I’ve impressed then.”

“Don’t tell me Cassandra is still giving you grief.”

“No,” Kate said, thoughtfully. “She’s…well, I don’t know if she’s warmed to me or not. She’s a bit prickly.”

“That’s like calling a giant ‘tall’.”

“I’ve yet to see her smile,” Kate said. “But I don’t imagine she has much to smile about these days. None of us do.”

“She only threatened you for a day, and since then she’s been calling you ‘Herald.’ I’d say you’ve won her over. Now _Solas,_ eh… I don’t think he likes you so much.”

“He’s wary of Circle mages. I would be too, if I were an apostate.”

“He’s pretty powerful though, isn’t he?” Varric asked. “I mean, I’ve known my share of apostates, but none of them were quite that… What’s the word I’m looking for…”

“Wily,” Kate said. “It’s like he grabs hold of the underside of the Veil and shakes it. I’ve never seen anything like it. I think I’d tear myself in two if I tried to do the same.”

“Is that what he’s doing?” Varric asked, rubbing his chin. “I just feel a lot of static and my hair stands on end when he starts casting. And considering most of my hair is on my chest, it’s uncomfortable. Maybe that’s why the elf shaved himself.”

“Maybe,” Kate said, chuckling.

“Yeah,” Varric laughed. “I’m just still not used to the magic stuff. Even after all those years fighting alongside Hawke - Anders, too. Well, hell, I tried to steer clear of the whole mage mess.”

“And look where you are now,” Kate pointed out.

“Exactly,” Varric sighed. “There’s irony in all this. I tried to stay neutral about the mage-templar thing, and I’ve been in the thick of it every since.”

“Neutral?” Kate repeated, giving him a curious look. “You weren’t exactly neutral in ‘The Tale of the Champion.’”

“Sure I was,” Varric said. He sounded a bit defensive to Kate’s ears. “I never took a side.”

“Maybe not outright,” Kate replied, “but Anders was an awfully sympathetic character.”

“Sympathetic? He was the guy who blew up the Kirkwall Chantry and started this war. Or did you miss the ending of the book?”

“I didn’t miss it,” Kate replied. “But you made it sound like it was inevitable. You went to great lengths to show just how far gone Meredith was. She was a powerful woman who had a lot of influence and instead of defending her, you stood up for a penniless refugee who hid out in Darktown.”

“Yeah, well, stories sell better if the audience has an underdog to root for.”

“You had a spirit of Justice speak through Anders whenever he got angry about mages,” Kate said. “You might as well be telling the Chantry that the Maker himself frowned on their actions.”

“Huh,” Varric said, his brows drawing together. “You really did read my book.”

“I did,” Kate nodded. “And I kept thinking that if you wanted to get Hawke out of trouble, you could have just made Anders out to be a villain. Everyone would have blamed him and pitied her. But you didn’t. You told his story with compassion.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Varric shrugged, “If I hadn’t told the truth about Anders, Hawke would have had my hide. Even after everything, she… Well,” he shifted nervously and glanced at the village lights.

“Look,” he said, “Don’t go discussing that book with Cassandra, okay? I think she missed the subtext. Along with some other things…” Kate thought she heard him mutter.

“Alright,” Kate agreed. She and Varric sat there in silence for a moment, then Kate asked:

“So, what was she like?”

“Hawke?”

“Yes,” Kate nodded. “Your stories made Hawke seem larger than life and yet very human all at the same time.”

“She was. She _is_ , I should say. Haven’t seen her in a while, but, yeah, that’s Hawke all over. Hawke didn’t make stories happen. They happened _to_ her. She just contributed her terrible one-liners to them.” Varric chuckled to himself, then stared out into the night. “But everybody was drawn to her, you know? She lit up every room she walked into. Moths to flame, and all that.”

“You were drawn to her?”

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ve got a weakness for trouble and good stories, and Hawke was full of both. I guess we were all like that - Isabela, Fenris, Anders. Years passed, and there we were, still drinking bad ale in the Hanged Man, still listening to Hawke’s bad jokes. It’s funny, though. I wrote all those stories down, not thinking that they would turn into this legend. It was just life, you know? A bunch of lives circling around this one woman’s crazy adventures. I made Hawke the main character of my stories. But the world - the world made her a hero. She never wanted to be a hero, you know. But it happened all the same.”

“She sounds like a very special person,” Kate observed.

“She was,” Varric nodded. “She was flawed and funny and a complete mess, frankly. I mean, geez, her and Anders…” He waved a hand at the night and fell silent.

“Yes?” Kate prompted when Varric didn’t go on. “You do realize that’s one of the parts I never quite got about your story. I could never understand how a woman as intelligent as Hawke could fall for someone so…troubled.”

“Tell me about it,” Varric sighed. “Hell, I don’t know how to explain it. I had a hard enough time trying to capture it in my stories. I mean, at first, I thought it was just a sex thing. Those first few months, they were at it _all_ the time. But then they stayed together, and I guess it was…more? Mind you, I’m not sure that what they had was healthy. Hawke loved attention and Anders loved his glorious despair, and…shit I dunno.” Varric shrugged. “I really don’t know. I wrote it as best I could, how things looked to me on the outside. But I never fully understood it. None of us writers do. We don’t make up our characters. We just record them as accurately as we can.”

“Is that how it is?” Kate wondered.

“Yep,” Varric shrugged. “Anyhow, seeing this - mages, templars fighting? - it brings it all back.” He shook his head. “Crazy times.”

“You were there, weren’t you?” Kate said. “I don’t mean to pry, but I have wanted to ask you about it. I mean, you were there at the very beginning.”

“The beginning?” Varric snorted. “The beginning of the mage-templar problem was the founding of the Chantry. And no, I’m not _that_ old.”

“But you were there when the Kirkwall Gallows fell.”

“Yeah, I was there,” Varric muttered. “I was there when Anders blew the Chantry, when the templars went crazy, when Curly stood up to Meredith and defended the Kirkwall mages.”

“Curly?” Kate said. She was sure Varric had said that name before, but she couldn’t recall when.

“Yeah, you know,” Varric waved a hand. “Cullen. Or Knight-Captain Cullen, as he was then.”

And just like that, Kate felt as if someone had punched her in the chest. She gasped once, then choked out:

“ _Knight-Captain_?”

“Yeah,” Varric said, looking over at her. “You didn’t know that?”

“Cullen?” Kate repeated, feeling like she couldn’t get enough air. “ _Our_ Cullen?”

“I didn’t realize Cullen was ‘ours’,” Varric said, turning to her with a searching look.

“I… He’s not,” Kate shook her head. “I mean, he is. I mean… You _are_ speaking of Cullen. Back-at-camp, Cullen. Commander of the Inquisition…”

“Blonde, used-to-be-curly hair? Lot of stubble? Furry collar? Yeah. We’re talking about the same guy.” Varric was now regarding Kate with narrowed eyes.

“He was Kirkwall’s _Knight-Captain_?” Kate asked yet again.

“I take it that you missed that detail,” Varric said. Kate just nodded dumbly.

Yes, she had missed that detail. And now that she had it, she hardly knew what to think. When people had gossiped about the rogue knight-captain in ballrooms, Kate had pictured a hardened, paunchy, gray haired lyrium addict who had given up after a long weary fight against disorder in the Gallows. But when Kate thought of Cullen, she remembered him as a warm-eyed, smiling bear-soldier, who had made sarcastic remarks and then told her to take care of herself.

The two images collided in Kate’s mind, so startlingly dissimilar that they shattered from the impact. Her thoughts now lay scattered about her mind like so many shards of broken glass. Dazedly, Kate glanced over all the sharp considerations and contradictions and rumors, not at all sure how to fit the mass of them back together again.

The first glinting thought that caught Kate’s attention was that Cullen was awfully young for a knight-captain. Kate would have put him in his early to mid thirties, but most templars didn’t make captain until their late forties, after years of dedicated service. For Cullen to be promoted at such a young age, Meredith must have thought very highly of him. He must have been quite loyal to her, and good at his job, besides, Kate reasoned. And if Cullen had been good at his job… As a templar… In Kirkwall…

“Maker’s breath,” Kate whispered. She drew back from that fragment of thought as though it had cut her.

“Cullen didn’t mention all this when you guys were getting cozy around the war table?”

“No,” Kate said, softly. “He didn’t mention it.”

“Ah. Let me guess. You want to hear the story from the dwarf who was there. I don’t blame you,” he added, looking smug. “It’s a doozy.”

“I…” Kate trailed off uncomfortably, then softly said: “I don’t know. I’ve heard enough gossip about Kirkwall to last a lifetime.”

“I don’t deal in _gossip_ ,” Varric said, frowning at Kate in disapproval. “Rumor is for amateurs. You forget, I was there.”

True, Kate thought, and perhaps it would be good to hear the story from someone closer to the facts. Maker knew that Kate had heard enough about Kirkwall to chill her blood. She had heard stories bandied about in ballrooms, rumors shared over flutes of champagne and little frosted cakes. In the Ostwick Circle, where the mages couldn’t speak so openly, Kate had heard the tale in a different manner. Smuggled letters, pamphlets, and manifestos from the outside world made the rounds from hand to hand and desk to desk when the templars weren’t looking. While the stories differed in severity and blame, they all agreed on one thing: Kirkwall’s Gallows were more like a prison than a Circle, and the mages there had grown increasingly desperate for their freedom. And while Kate had never considered herself a revolutionary, she had wished there was some way to help the mages in Kirkwall.

Kirkwall’s Knight-Commander, Meredith, started out as a strict ruler, but that was just the beginning. Shortly after taking power, she had purged the library, burning every tome deemed ‘dangerous.’ Then she had started locking mages in their cells at night, putting them in solitary confinement for the smallest infraction. Then, according to rumor, a true reign of terror had begun. Harrowed mages had been made tranquil; mages had been abused, humiliated, raped, even killed. Anyone who aided or harbored mages was arrested - or executed in the streets as an example to others.

And Cullen had been part of all that, Kate thought, feeling sick to her stomach. The handsome man who had listened while Kate cried about Robert, who had told her that some people were just thankful that she would stick around - that same man had worked as Meredith’s _knight-captain._

As knight-captain, Cullen would have been part of Meredith’s inner circle, Kate realized. He would have been tasked with carrying out her every order. And he must have known what his fellow templars were doing. So if even a fraction of the rumors from Kirkwall were true…

Kate shivered. She wrapped her arms about her shoulders, not to protect herself from the cold, but to protect her mind from the sharpness of her shattered thoughts.

”‘Mages aren’t really people,’” she said.

“Beg pardon?” Varric asked.

“In your book,” Kate said, reciting from memory now. “That’s what the Knight-Captain says to Hawke and Anders. That’s what… _Cullen_ …said.” She frowned, then said again, “He thinks mages aren’t people.”

“He said they couldn’t be _treated_ like people,” Varric corrected. “He… Okay, yeah, it was something pretty close to that. I recreated the line as best I could. Curly said… Oh, how did he put it? He said, ‘Mages are not like you and me. They can light a city on fire in a fit of pique.’”

Varric’s imitation of Cullen was pretty spot-on, accent and everything. But Kate felt too hurt to say anything in reply. It felt as if one of those shards of thought had lodged itself in Kate’s chest. She absently rubbed at the spot just above her heart.

“When he said shit like that,” Varric laughed, evidently not noticing Kate’s distress, “I figured Curly didn’t know that Hawke was a mage. I used to laugh about it, thinking that the joke was on him. Turns out, he knew about Hawke all along.”

“He did?”

“Yeah,” Varric shrugged. “I asked him about it on our way over from Kirkwall. Asked him why he’d say shit like that to Hawke and Anders, but never arrest them. He said, ‘They needed to hear the other side.’ I guess he thought he was standing up for the Order or something.”

“And why didn’t he arrest Hawke?” Kate asked, peering at him in the moonlight.

“Now _that_ he didn’t say,” Varric said. “Just got real quiet when I asked. Maybe Meredith wouldn’t let him? I have no idea. Never could figure that guy out.”

“That makes two of us,” Kate murmured, still rubbing at her chest.

“You got an itch or something?” Varric asked her.

“No.” Kate let her hand drop. “No, I’m just…No.”

“Curly was right about some of it though,” Varric went on. “About the whole ‘light the city on fire’ thing, I mean. Anders’ fit of pique sure messed Kirkwall up good. And before that, there were blood mages everywhere. Me and Hawke took down some demon-summoning bastard every other day, it seemed like. You gotta understand, Duchess. The average Kirkwaller was just hoping someone would keep order in that chaos - even if that someone was Meredith.”

That was true, Kate thought. Every cry of ‘mage freedom!’ was inevitably countered by the equal and opposite reminder: ‘but some mages are dangerous.’ Kate had always been taught that the Circles existed for a reason, that the Chantry had the good of the common people in mind. She had always been told that her imprisonment was the price the world had to pay to keep people safe. And Kate had endured those teachings, even if she didn’t quite believe them. Now, however, after the rebellion and the Conclave and the fighting she’d seen this last week between wild mages and templars - now she didn’t know what to think anymore.

“Meredith kept a lot of her weirdness secret,” Varric added, wrinkling his nose. “Most people didn’t really know how far gone she was until the very end. I think Curly began to suspect it, though. And some of the young templars, like Ruvena and Keran and all those kids. They all looked to Cullen as Meredith began to get loopy.”

 _Keran and Ruvena,_ Kate thought, closing her eyes. Of course.

“They’re from Kirkwall, too?” she asked, her voice very small.

“Yeah,” Varric nodded. “Them and what’s-his-tattooed-face and the dim one. Curly commanded loyalty, I’ll give him that. A good chunk of the Order switched sides when he switched sides. I guess a lot of them were waiting for someone to stand up to Meredith. Not everyone in Kirkwall was comfortable with her particular brand of crazy.”

Kate nodded, then asked a question that she had heard asked many times before.

“Why _did_ Cullen turn on Meredith?”

The question had been asked in ballrooms all over the Free Marches - in rooms all over Thedas, no doubt. Aristocrats and mages alike had speculated and theorized, and all the while Kate had regarded it as a purely academic exercise in curiosity. Now, however, Kate felt uncomfortably invested in hearing the answer. Depending on why Cullen had done what he’d done, she might be able to piece all these shards back into an accurate portrait of him again - or she might be stuck with the fragments indefinitely.

“Ah,” Varric said, wagging his finger, clearly pleased she’d asked. “Now _that_ was something. See, here’s the set up: the Knight-Captain - Curly - has been serving the Order for years. He’s been told mages are dangerous. He’s _seen_ that mages are dangerous. He’s been doing Meredith’s dirty work, sedating mages and shit.”

“He sedated mages?” Kate said, weakly.

“Yeah, I put that in the book, right? After Hawke’s brother got kidnapped, Curly sedated the jerks who did it. It was either that or kill them. Anyhow, that’s not the point. The point is, the Chantry gets blown. Anders - an apostate - owns up to it. Anders _admits_ that he’s done this to start a war between mages and templars. Hawke is horrified, the First Enchanter is _freaking_ out, and in response to all this, Meredith orders the templars to get to the Gallows so that they can annul the Circle.”

“Annul,” Kate murmured, her stomach twisting itself into an even tighter knot.

Maker’s breath. She remembered this part of the story. In theory, annulment was a kind of magical quarantine, the purging of a Circle tainted by blood magic and demons. In practice, it was a Chantry-sanctioned massacre. To annul a Circle, templars killed every mage within that tower: every last man, woman, and child.

And Cullen would had annulled the Circle of Kirkwall, Kate thought. True, he would have done that under orders, but he would have done it. The very idea left her cold with terror, as if her shards of thought had become sharp teeth at the nape of her neck.

If she had been a Kirkwall mage, Kate thought, unable to help herself, Cullen would struck her down without a thought. He would have neutralized her magic and taken her head, and that would have been the end. His handsome face would have been the last thing she saw in this world.

Kate’s arms tightened around her waist, her fingertips bruising her own ribs.

”…But that was the good part,” Varric told her.

For a moment, Kate thought he meant her nightmarish imaginings, but then she realized she must have missed some of his story as her mind had wandered.

“Because _then_ ,” Varric went on, his voice going low and dramatic. “Then the Gallows went all quiet. Curly lifts his head. He looks up at his fellow templars, and then, slowly, he steps away from them. He takes another step, and then another, until he’s standing side-by-side with Hawke. With _Anders_ , you get me? The guy who just blew up the Grand Cleric is standing there, and Curly _joins_ him. Curly looks Meredith in the eye. He turns his bloodied sword - the same one he’s been using to fight his way to the Gallows - and he points it right at her throat.” Varric held his hand out in the moonlight, miming each action.

“And then….”

Varric dropped his arm and Kate let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“Then what?” she asked.

“Then the tide turned,” Varric replied, spreading his hands out wide. “Cullen fought alongside the apostates to defend the remaining mages. When the battle was over, he let Hawke _and Anders_ go. Then he held the Circle together, ordered every templar to join him or to get out. He protected the remaining mages from the rest of the city, which, as you might guess, was no small feat. A lot of people were out for mage blood after that.”

“He protected the mages,” Kate repeated.

The sensation of teeth at her throat lessened, and Kate felt as though she could catch her breath. And yet, Kate was still left with these shards of thought in her mind and an overwhelming sense of disappointment.

“Ah,” Varric grinned. “It was epic shit. My editors loved it. They didn’t entirely believe me, but it was all true. I couldn’t have made that shit up.”

“But,” Kate said, still stuck on the earlier murdering-the-mages bit, “Cullen went to the Gallows to _annul_ the Circle. He was ready to kill every mage in Kirkwall on Meredith’s order.”

“And then he _didn’t,_ ” Varric said, pinching his thumb and forefinger together, as if trying to catch the moral of the story and hold it up for Kate to see. “ _That’s_ what made it all so poetic. The conflicted knight, bound to the rules of the Order? Then he abandons the rules so that he can defend the _principles_ on which the Order was founded. Bah!” Varric dropped his hand and shook his head, as if this was something no one could quite appreciate but himself, “It wouldn’t be good character development if he couldn’t have gone the other way just as easily.”

“This is a person were talking about, Varric,” Kate said, frowning.

“He’s still a character,” Varric replied. “Not much of one, mind you. Other than his moment of glory in Kirkwall, Curly’s just gone from bland to blander. Needs a few more vices to make him interesting, if you ask me.”

Kate wasn’t sure about that. If Cullen had been part of what went on in the Gallows, he probably had vice enough in his past. Kate stared at Varric for a moment more, then shifted her gaze out over the quiet woods.

“That answers the question of _how_ Cullen turned on Meredith,” Kate said, slowly, “but not _why._ “

“Oh,” Varric said, clearly taken aback. “Well, he uh…” He paused, then gave a short huff of laughter. “Shit, I don’t know. I mean, I guess Curly had had enough of Meredith’s lunacy. And he respected Hawke - and me, if I do say so myself. I guess he didn’t want to see us die.”

“But you don’t really know for sure,” Kate said. Varric shrugged and looked chagrined.

“Okay, yeah, I don’t know,” he replied. “It’s a reasonable interpretation though, don’t you think? But hey, if you don’t believe me, ask Curly about it. He’s a big templar, he can speak for himself.”

Yes, Kate thought. He was a big templar. That was sort of the problem. Cullen was tall, strong, and intimidating, and the thought of asking him about Kirkwall made Kate feel decidedly ill. What would she say, anyway? “Excuse me, Cullen, but were you one of the templars who raped, beat, and branded mages? Or did you just stand by while the other templars did those things?” She couldn’t possibly ask him _that_. As a mage, Kate wouldn’t dare provoke a templar in such a way. And she didn’t have to be a Trevelyan to know that asking such a question would offend a person beyond measure. Besides, what on earth would she do if he answered in the affirmative, Kate wondered? She wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes ever again. As it was, Kate could scarcely _think_ these questions without burning with impotent rage and sympathetic pain.

“Hey, maybe he’ll actually tell you,” Varric continued. “He never said much to me. But you know, in the end, it didn’t matter.”

“It didn’t matter?” Kate asked, her voice coming out a bit more sharply than she meant it to. “His reason for turning on his commanding officer, his reason for following her orders in the first place - _that_ didn’t matter?”

“Not at all,” Varric replied. “What mattered was that Curly was in the right place at the right time. If he hadn’t been there, me and Hawke and the others might not have made it through the night. I mean, we’re good fighters, but Curly brought half of the templars over to our side. He was the only templar with the stones to turn on Meredith, and he was high-ranking enough to make the others think twice. So, as far as I’m concerned, Cullen’s made up for his former dickery, and then some.”

And there was another shard for her collection. Cullen had been the hero in the end, protecting mages and keeping the peace. But surely one act of mercy could not make up for years of perpetuating a system of cruelty.

“You’re awfully quick to defend Cullen,” Kate said, as calmly as she could. “But you also defended Anders, the person who started the war in the first place…”

And _there_ was a case where a man’s lifetime of good deeds had been undermined by one murderous act, Kate mused.

“Hey, this isn’t about defense,” Varric interrupted, holding up a finger to stall her. “This is about truth. I’m not for mages or templars or anything but accuracy. That’s the only side a writer ever _should_ be on.”

“I see,” Kate replied.

But Kate wasn’t sure that she _did_ see. It was one thing for Varric - a dwarf - to look at what happened in the Gallows and say ‘for accuracy’s sake.’ He was a Kirkwaller who surely felt more loyalty to his city than he did to the Circle. He had been there for the final battle, but it didn’t sound as though he had any idea what had gone on behind the Gallows’ closed doors. But _that_ was the part that worried Kate most of all.

What had Cullen been like in the years before his rebellion, in those hours when no one was watching him? A templar who abused mages was a monster, pure and simple. A templar who stood by and allowed those abuses to happen? That was no better. Yet reason suggested that Cullen must have done one of those two things - possibly both. True, Cullen had tried to set things right in the end, but that just implied that he’d been a part of the _wrong_ in the first place.

Furthermore, Kate wasn’t sure if Cullen’s mutiny impressed her or concerned her. Turning on Meredith implied that Cullen was not the sort of person to blindly follow orders - at least not in the long run. Normally, she would find that a mark in his favor. But what did that mean for the Inquisition, Kate wondered? If Cullen decided that he disagreed with Leliana and Josephine and Cassandra, would he take the troops and leave? Would he turn on them, as he had done in Kirkwall? The Divine had recruited Cullen to lead her armies, but would he stay now that the Divine was dead?

And that was another thing, Kate thought. The _Divine_ had recruited Cullen to lead the Inquisition’s troops. That gave him a great deal of credibility, even if the Chantry wasn’t quite sure what to make of the Inquisition yet. Kate, on the other hand, was only in the Inquisition by chance. She was the accidental survivor of the Conclave blast, the woman suspected of murder by half of Thedas. For all her fine titles of ‘Herald’ and ‘Worship’, Kate knew her position here was still dangerously precarious. If the others decided they no longer needed her, then she was as good as dead. It would be wise not to antagonize her templar colleague, Kate reasoned. She ought to forget she had ever heard this about Cullen.

But how could she possibly _forget_ , Kate wondered? The splintered thoughts in her mind were needling her now. Some shards suggested ways to vindicate Cullen of any complicity in the horror of Kirkwall. Other fragments made Kate suspect him of the very worst evils she’d ever heard of. Kate gingerly sifted through the stories and rumors, trying not to cut herself on the edges. Yet she found no reliable facts, not in this glittering mess. Of course, she wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind to be reasonable about all this. Most embarrassing of all, Kate had allowed this to become personal.

Little wonder there, Kate thought in disgust. Cullen had treated her like a person, and for a moment, she had let it go to her head. Varric could speak of Cullen as some storybook hero, the gossips of Ostwick could speak of him as some lazy oaf, but Kate had _met_ the man. Cullen the bear-soldier had struck her as neither valiantly mutinous nor sadistically cruel, neither a charismatic rebel nor a scheming turncoat. Instead, in their few interactions, Kate had come to think of Cullen as blunt and practical and intelligent. He was also surprisingly kind, amusingly sarcastic, and, curiously, for a moment there, he seemed a bit uncertain of himself.

And _there_ it was, Kate thought, glancing away so Varric would not see the hurt in her eyes. The real reason this revelation bothered her so much was that she had felt a connection to Cullen. There had been a time - a short amount of time, true - in which Kate had let her guard down around him. It wasn’t that she fancied him, Kate assured herself, quickly. She wasn’t so foolish as to form an attachment to a man she had only met. But Cullen had been kind to her, and Kate was not used to such kindness. Even her best friends joked and jostled and were a bit rough with her. They gave her a punch on the shoulder, when what Kate truly wanted was an embrace.

It was like Cullen had sensed her need for affection, Kate thought, angrily. He had been so charming, that she now wondered how much of his behavior was an act. Perhaps he acted that way around all mages. Maybe his smile was just a lure, convincing young apprentices to trust him without question. If so, he must have gotten away with murder.

Kate shuddered. It was possible that he _had_ , actually. It was possible he had gotten away with any number of things. After all, handsome faces often masked cruel hearts. Kate had learned that hard lesson years ago.

“You alright, Duchess?” Varric asked. “You seem kind of rattled.”

Kate jumped, startled by the sound of his voice. For a moment there, she’d entirely forgotten where she was or who was with her.

“Not at all,” Kate lied, swiftly.

“Hmm-yeah,” Varric said, watching her closely, “That line might work on Cassandra, but you forget: I have better people skills than the Seeker. So what? Did I just make things weird between the mage-Herald and the templar-Commander?”

“No,” Kate said, making herself smile so that he wouldn’t worry. “Not at all, Varric. Thing’s aren’t weird. They’re…fine.”

”‘Fine,’” Varric repeated. “Well, shit. Now I know I upset you.”

“No, really, Varric,” Kate said, as breezily as she could. “It’s fine. _I’m_ fine. I’ve lived around templars all my life, both in the Circle and in my family. I’ll find a way to…”

She trailed off, not sure how to complete that thought. For now another memory came back to her, a shard of recollection so brilliant that it made her sadness hurt all the more. Kate recalled standing beside Cullen at the announcement of the Inquisition, when Leliana had released several ravens into the sky. The two of them had shared a bemused glance, and with it, a kind of connection that Kate rarely felt with anyone. Surely a man who laughed like that…

A man who laughed like that could be anyone, Kate told herself. The truth was, Kate didn’t know the first thing about Cullen, and certainly not the man that he had been years ago. Frankly, she suspected that Varric didn’t know all that much about Cullen either. Varric’s story explained what had happened in Kirkwall, but it said very little about the motivations of the templars involved. Varric had merely heaped more scraps of narrative into Kate’s already jumbled mind. He had provided no insight with which to glue all these fragments back together.

“To…?” Varric prompted.

“It’s nothing,” Kate said.

With a soft sigh, she lifted her head to look up at the stars. Through the waving branches of the trees and the trailing clouds, Kate could see constellations spread out all through the sky. Unlike the chaos in her mind, the stars were solid and well-spaced and beautiful as ever. The stars were so reliable, Kate thought, bitterly. They returned night after night, their course unwavering. So why were people so much more complicated? People swerved and changed sides and fell and picked themselves back up again and Kate never quite knew what to think about the mess that was human nature. Only a handful of people had ever been loyal to her, Kate reflected. And of those people, only Coll remained. Robert and Lydia were dead. Kate now ached to think of it, so much so that her chest felt as cold and empty as a cave.

And _there_ was the heart of the matter, Kate thought, numbly. This wasn’t really about Cullen. Well, it _was_ , but it wasn’t only about him. This was about loss and this was about rebellion. This was about Meredith and corrupt templars all over the world. This was about the walled-off mages in Redcliffe and the mad apostates and the rogue templars, too. This was about the nobility who cared only for the next fashion and the commoners who cared only to keep things exactly as they had been for years and years. It was all the same thing, at root. It all came back to that one, horrible truth: that there was no war in the world that had not begun as hatred and fear in a human heart.

 _And if I allow myself to fear and hate Cullen,_ Kate mused, _Am I any better?_

And yet, how could she ignore what he’d done? His crimes - whatever they had been - had not been directed at Kate. But for that same reason, they were not hers to forgive.

_I suppose that means they’re not mine to condemn either._

Or perhaps they were. Whose job was it to take the templars to task for their abuses, Kate wondered? The templars could hardly be expected to censure themselves.

“Hey,” Varric said calling Kate’s attention back down to earth. “Where’d you go, Duchess? I’m talking to you, but I think I might as well be talking to the graves here. This really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Kate shook her head. “No,” she half-lied.

It _did_ bother her, but she didn’t want to dwell on it anymore. She would not let this distract her from her purpose, Kate decided. She would find a way to close the breach. She would find the people who had murdered Robert, and she would protect Coll and her new friends as well. Everything else was unimportant.

The only rational course of action, then, was to do as Varric had done. Kate needed to view this whole story - view _Cullen_ \- with an impersonal eye. To that end, Kate would do well to put some emotional distance between herself and the former Kirkwall knight-captain. She would work with Cullen as need arose, but beyond that, she would avoid him. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d drawn back from a person before they could hurt her, Kate thought, sitting up stiffly. It probably wouldn’t be the last, either.

And yet, even as Kate thought that, it seemed a cowardly sort of thing to do. Cullen must have had reasons for his actions - both following Meredith and turning on her. So perhaps she should just ask him about it, Kate reasoned. Surely it would be better to question Cullen to his face than whisper about him behind his back.

 _Maybe,_ Kate thought frowning. Perhaps. Or maybe not. Distance and ignorance was probably the safer bet.

“Duchess?” Varric asked again.

Kate blinked and turned to him with a thin smile. “Sorry, Varric,” she said. “Don’t mind me. News like this is like my blisters. It starts out a bit uncomfortable, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

“Yeah, that’s not a good metaphor,” the dwarf replied. “That’s like saying you’re building up calluses in your mind.”

“Should we head back?” Kate said, hopping down from the stone wall. She felt exhausted now, and not just because it was growing late.

“Fair enough,” Varric said, peering up into the darkness. “Looks like the clouds are rolling in anyway.”

“I’m not sure how you can tell that in the dark.”

“Bianca told me,” Varric said, patting his crossbow. “She’s seen all this before. She knows when the storms are coming.”

Kate was not sure if she believed crossbows could predict the weather, but she was too preoccupied to question the dwarf. Instead, she and Varric silently headed back toward the lights of the Crossroads. All the while, Kate wondered what on earth she would say to Cullen when next she saw him. She wondered if she’d have the courage to speak to him at all. And because she didn’t know what to think, Kate took one last look at the broken fragments of her thoughts, and then did her best to brush them aside.


	22. Provisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate is chill and Coll makes a play

Kate stared at the markers and notes on the war table without really seeing them. She felt exhausted and cold, and little wonder. Kate had woken before dawn, traveled through rain and snow, and finally reached Haven just twenty minutes ago. Now, she stood in the war room, hair still damp with melting snow, limbs still shivering with cold. Around the war table, the leaders of the Inquisition were planning their next move.

No, Kate corrected herself, they were planning _Kate’s_ next move. She felt like a war table marker, to be scooted around the map at a whim. The truly maddening part was this:

The only person defending Kate was Cullen.

“Are you out of your _minds_?” the former templar said, scowling at each of the other women in turn. “If we send Trevelyan to Val Royeaux, she’s likely to get lynched in the streets.”

He waved a gloved hand at Kate, and she tried not to flinch at the unpleasant image he suggested.

“The Herald is the one the clerics need to see,” Josephine argued. “They could discount any of us, but the mark on the Herald’s hand…”

“Is needed here,” Cullen said, cutting her off. “What if more rifts appear? How are we to close them without the mark?”

Strike that, Kate thought, continuing to stare blankly at the map. Cullen was treating her like a map marker as well. Only he wanted her to stay closer to Haven rather than sailing to Val Royeaux. That Cullen was more concerned about the mark than Kate herself really didn’t surprise her. In fact, Kate reasoned, she should view this as a welcome development. She had resolved the entire way here to think of Cullen in a distant, cool manner. Of course, she had nearly broken that resolution the moment she saw Cullen again.

Their meeting had been as awkward an encounter as Kate had ever experienced. Minutes ago, Kate had returned to Haven just in time to witness a fight break out on the very steps of the Chantry. A couple of mages and a handful of templars had started arguing about who had killed the Divine, and before Kate could reach the crowd, Cullen arrived. The man had strode up out of nowhere, looking like a hero out of legend. Cullen had ignored the drawn swords and gathered spells. His commanding presence had stopped both the mages and templars in their tracks. At the sight, Kate’s heart had foolishly skipped a beat.

Cullen had then threatened latrine-digging duty to anyone who remained to cause trouble. The crowd had dispersed in a twinkling - all except for Kate, who had let out a spurt of laughter at Cullen’s hilarious threat. Cullen’s eyes had shot right to her.

“Herald!” he had said. “I didn’t see you there. Welcome back.”

And with that, Kate had felt her face warm and her stomach flip. Cullen had seemed pleased to see her. And being welcomed was so rare an occurance that Kate had not known what to say.

But then she remembered what Varric had said, and her fingertips had gone cold.

A moment later, Chancellor Roderick had showed up out of nowhere, bringing with him a series of accusations and snide remarks. Kate had secretly hoped that Cullen would assign latrine duty to _him._ But no, Cullen had just said he’d deal with Roderick and told Kate to proceed to the war room. Kate had done so. She hadn’t known what else to do.

Now, she stood at the war table, still playing the role of the mild, compliant mage. And it _chafed_ , Maker take it all. Before the Hinterlands, Kate might have been content to let the others push her around. But in the past few weeks, she had grown accustomed to being part of a team. She had even led a team from time to time. Returning to the role of ‘mage under orders’ sat ill with her. And this notion of going off to Val Royeaux to placate the Chantry? It struck Kate as pointless - not to mention, risky.

“Why don’t we send Cassandra?” Kate suggested, her eyes still resting on the map. “She was the Divine’s right hand, after all.”

And the grand clerics were highly unlikely to lynch _her_ in the streets, Kate added silently. Cassandra was a princess or something. She was as safe in Val Royeaux as anywhere in Thedas.

“Cassandra?” Leliana laughed. “Ah…”

“I am no good at flattering the clerics,” Cassandra said with a sneer. “And we need to appeal to the Chantry.”

“And the heretic mage would be better at appealing to them…how?” Kate wanted to know.

“The mark on your hand _proves_ you were chosen by Andraste,” Josephine said.

“Or that I’m the unwitting dupe in an elaborate magical prank,” Kate muttered, still staring at the map. Maker’s breath, was there no convincing these people? They were determined to see the mark as Andraste’s gift, and they were determined to send that gift right up the steps of the Grand Cathedral, danger be damned.

“If you do not go Val Royeaux soon,” Josephine went on, “then many of the supportive clerics will return to their own homes. We will lose all chance of securing the Chantry’s support.”

“Yes, and that would be a terrible tragedy,” Cullen said, sarcastically.

Kate bit back a snort of laughter. She might be filled with doubts about Cullen, but that didn’t stop her from agreeing with him on this. Funny how the templar was the least enthusiastic about speaking with clerics.

“Cullen,” Josephine chided, “We must try to reach out to them.”

“Why?” he said, unrepentant. “If Roderick’s welcome is any indication, then we already know how we’ll be received in Orlais.”

“What did he do?” Josephine asked, frowning.

Kate opened her mouth to explain, but Cullen beat her to it.

“The man told Trevelyan to ‘throw herself on the mercy of the grand clerics’.”

“In other words,” Cassandra said, flatly, “They plan to execute her.”

Kate flinched to hear it said so matter-of-factly. This entire scenario was most alarming. Across the table from her, Cullen nodded in agreement, oblivious to her distress.

“Exactly,” he said. “If we send her to Orlais, we might as well have tied the hangman’s noose around her neck and strung her up ourselves.”

By the Golden City, what an image, Kate thought. She gingerly reached up and touched her fingers to her throat. It was true, though. The noble honor of beheading would not be extended to a mage, and certainly not to the woman accused of murdering the Divine.

“Cullen, really!” Josephine said as Kate continued to fade away into her own thoughts. “The Chantry is not an institution that condones bloodshed.”

_Care to bet on that?_ Kate mused, distantly.

“Roderick would condone bloodshed if it meant reasserting his power in the Chantry,” Cullen returned, irritably. “He just wants his job back, hole in the sky notwithstanding.”

“I have been monitoring the situation from the moment Mother Giselle arrived with her lists,” Leliana said from the other end of the table. “We know which clerics we can trust, and they outnumber the hostile ones. My scouts are in place, and they will be ready. If I did not think the Herald would be perfectly fine, I would not risk sending her.”

Well, Kate thought. At least someone was planning ahead. Good to know.

“Can you trust your scouts though?” Cullen wanted to know. “Val Royeaux is a big place. In a city like that, you wander off down one wrong alley and suddenly you’re in the hands of blood mages or bandits or Maker knows what.”

“This is _Val Royeaux,_ commander,” Josephine said.

“And your point is?” Cullen countered. “This entire…whatever this is…”

“Diplomatic salvo,” Josephine supplied.

“It’s absurd,” Cullen said. “It only makes it look like we care what the Chantry thinks.”

“We _ought_ to care what the Chantry thinks,” Josephine replied. “If we have to fight popular opinion and the breach as well…”

“So you’d send the key to closing the breach halfway across the world?” Cullen asked. Kate felt the air from his waved had, rather than actually seeing that he’d gestured at her. She was mentally fading away now, feeling ever chillier and more remote.

“She’s traveling to Orlais, commander,” Leliana snorted. “Not the Anderfells.”

“It’s still a week and a half journey,” Cullen said. “If she’s murdered or captured, even the raven would take days.”

_How cheery,_ Kate thought. So her dangling body would be pecked at by city crows while the Inquisition ravens carried the news to Haven. What a lovely thought.

“It’s three days sailing from West Hill,” Josephine said. “Two, if the wind is fair. If the Herald leaves this evening, she can sail across Lake Calenhad tonight and…”

“ _This_ evening?” Cassandra interrupted sharply. “But we just returned.”

“Then you won’t have to unpack,” Leliana said with false cheer. Cassandra grunted with disgust.

“So three days there, three days back, and several days in the city,” Cullen said. “Like I said: A week and a half. She _should_ be closing rifts in that time.”

“The Herald closed every rift in the Hinterlands,” Cassandra said. “Our next focus must be closing the breach, and to that end, we need the…”

“The mages,” Leliana said just as Cullen responded with, “The templars.”

“Well, one of the two,” Josephine said. “And favor with the Chantry would help in that endeavor.”

“How?” Kate murmured. “The Chantry doesn’t have control of either.” But it seemed no one was listening to her.

“However,” Cullen said, his voice turning thoughtful. “The loyal templars _are_ all at the White Spire.”

And just like that, Kate knew what his next words would be. Even before Cullen spoke, Kate found herself growing angry.

“Perhaps we should go to Val Royeaux after all,” Cullen said, confirming Kate’s suspicion. “If we can secure the help of the templars, we can deal with the Chantry and get assistance with the breach all at once.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Josephine agreed. “They will listen to the Herald, surely. I will write to…”

Kate felt as if the rest of the conversation was blocked from her ears by a kind of cold roaring in her mind. So now Cullen was willing to send her to Val Royeaux, too, and for what? To collect his precious templar allies. Never mind that those fools had ignored the Divine’s summons to the Conclave. Never mind that the so-called ‘loyal’ templars had stood idly by while mages were murdered and innocent people had died in this conflict.

Kate felt fury fill her veins, cold and white and biting. She now felt angry, hurt, and angry that she _felt_ hurt, which was probably worst of all.

“Maker’s breath! Trevelyan!”

Kate looked up to find Cullen staring at her in astonishment. Beside him, Josephine had backed into the corner and was likewise looking at Kate in absolute shock. Cassandra was wide-eyed and wary. Only Leliana’s face was impassive, but Kate saw that her hand was behind her back in a most suspicious manner - resting on a knife, no doubt.

“What?” Kate said, feeling as startled as they all looked.

“Y-you…” Josephine pointed at the table. Kate glanced down, then drew back her hands at once. The entire tabletop was covered with a layer of frost, patterned like fine lace. Ice encased the map markers and only two spots on the table remained bare. Kate’s hand prints remained from where she had rested against the table.

“Oh,” Kate said, her tone stiff and formal as she tried to hide her embarrassment. “I do beg your pardon.”

Well, Kate thought, that _would_ explain the chill she’d felt. Andraste have mercy, she hadn’t cast unconsciously like this since…since before her Harrowing, surely. Kate wasn’t sure if that was just a lack of control in her emotions or if the mark was making her revert very badly indeed. She supposed it didn’t matter, really. The others were shocked, regardless of the reason for her spell.

As calmly as she could, Kate swept her hands out wide. The frost melted at once, rising up toward her fingers in little droplets. Soon she had a small sphere of water under each outstretched palm. Kate turned her hands upward, drawing the water along with her. When she flicked her fingers to the floor, the water fell around her boots. Everything else was dry, though the map remained a little wrinkled. Kate let out a sigh, then raised her eyes. As she expected, everyone was staring at her.

“Apologies,” Kate said, lifting her chin.

“Did you _mean_ to do that?” Cullen demanded at once.

“ _No,_ ” Kate snapped, a bit more sharply than she meant to. “That only happens when I’m upset.”

“You are upset, Lady Trevelyan?” Josephine asked, looking genuinely confused by that possibility.

Kate couldn’t help it. She laughed in disbelief and waved a hand at the table. Everyone flinched a little, no doubt expecting her to cast again.

“Am I _upset_?” she repeated. “Ambassador, for the past quarter hour, you all have done nothing but discuss the various ways in which the grand clerics plan to kill me. And yet you’re still planning to send me to Orlais, because supposedly, we need templars.”

She gave Cullen a pointed look, and his brows furrowed in response.

“Yes, well, obviously we wouldn’t send you if there was a real danger,” he said.

“Oh, obviously,” Kate said, rolling her eyes.

“Lady Herald,” Josephine said, in a precise tone that just set Kate’s nerves on edge, “I know it is a challenging prospect to speak with the grand clerics…”

“That’s not the point,” Kate said, frowning at her.

“The point is,” Leliana put in, “We need the Chantry clerics to be divided amongst themselves so they won’t cause trouble…”

“We need the Chantry to join us,” Josephine protested, while Cullen cut in, saying, “We need the Chantry’s templars, not the Chantry itself.”

Kate glared at all of them, fighting the urge to frost the entire table again. Deliberately, this time.

“We need the Chantry,” Cassandra said. “We can all agree on that.”

“ _You_ can agree on that,” Kate said. “You can agree on that, because all of _you_ want to restore what _was_. I thought the point of the Inquisition was to close the breach, find the Divine’s killers, and restore the peace. But giving power back to the Chantry? That’s more than I signed on for.”

“Well,” Josephine said, nervously. “The Chantry _is_ the unifying force in most of Thedas.”

“You want to restore the old order because you had a place in it,” Kate said to her. “You all did. But what about the people who had no place? What about them?”

“If you’re speaking about the mages,” Leliana said, “We did try to reach them…”

“No!” Kate snapped, slapping her open hand on the table. A palm-print of ice remained behind as Kate pointed a finger at the door to the Chantry nave.

“I’m talking about _everyone_ the Chantry betrayed,” she snapped. “I’m talking about everyone they left behind. That they _continue_ to leave behind. The Chantry is the reason we’re _in_ the mess. It’s _their fault_.”

She glared at all the rest of them, allowing her disgust to show. But then Kate paused as she considered the full weight of blame. The room was silent as she let out a weary sigh.

“No,” she said, softly. “That’s not right. It’s our fault.”

“Ours?” Josephine blinked.

“The nobles,” Kate now glowered at Josephine, “have done nothing but protect their own selfish interests, even as the world fell apart. The Seekers,” Kate added, nodding at Cassandra, “were the ones who lost control of the templars in the first place. The Divine,” here Kate glanced at Leliana, “was ready to declare an Exalted March on the Kirkwall mages, rather listen to them, and the _templars_ …”

Kate glared at Cullen, feeling every bit of her fury run hot and cold in her veins. She had so much to say on _that_ score that she hardly knew where to begin. As for Cullen, he just gazed back at her with a troubled expression.

“Let us not forget the mages were no help in this either,” Cassandra interrupted, flatly.

“Cassandra, _please,_ ” Josephine said, obviously trying to calm everyone down.

“Yes, the mages.” Kate agreed, feeling suddenly weary. “Because we allowed it. We did nothing.”

_I did nothing,_ Kate thought. She had allowed herself to be frightened and ashamed of her magic. She had believed that she was being wise, being safe, and doing her duty as an Andrastian and as a Trevelyan. But now, she realized that it had been an excuse to hide away and let someone else take the lead. She had let the Chantry tell her who she was and how things ought to be.

Well, Kate decided, no more. She wasn’t sure what she ought to do next. After following orders her entire life, it felt strange to even think about forging her own path. But she couldn’t continue trailing after this foolish devotion to the Chantry’s mistakes. She wouldn’t.

“I will go to Val Royeaux,” Kate promised them all. “But I won’t act as your Herald or ‘Worship’ or whatever else it is that the Inquisition wants to call me. If I go, I go as myself.”

Kate shoved back from the table, then turned on her heel and snapped her hand out to one side. She sent the puddle on the floor arcing up the wall in a spray of icicles. It was was probably childish to end the meeting with a gesture like that, but Kate didn’t care. She marched out of the door, leaving silence behind her.

* * *

“They’re sending you to Val Royeaux? _Tonight_? What in the everlastin’ feck?”

Kate leaned against the wall in Adan’s apothecary and folded her arms over her chest.

“No,” Kate said, decisively. “ _They’re_ not sending me anywhere. I’m going because I have a thing or two to say to the grand clerics.”

“Oh?” Coll said, perking up at that. “That sounds promisin’. You gonna go all rebel on me, Kate? Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I’m not sure I do,” Kate sighed and shook her head. “But I’ve got to find something else to fight for.”

Kate rubbed her hands on her arms to try and get warm again. In spite of the fire, Kate still felt the frost. She had almost told Coll about what had happened at the war table, but then decided against it. Kate still wasn’t quite clear about what had happened herself. She needed a bit more time to think this through before saying something to Coll about it. Coll was wonderful in many regards, but thinking things through rationally was not one of them.

“Something _else_ to fight for,” Coll repeated. “The sky ain’t enough?”

“No,” Kate said, cocking her head to one side. “The sky isn’t enough. There has to be a better way for mages to live in this world. I just wish I knew what it was.”

“Yeh gonna go savin’ the world from yer desk again, Kate?” Coll chuckled. “Trouble with you is, you always see two sides of anythin’, and then yeh never do either.”

“Not anymore,” Kate said.

“Well, whatever yeh do in Val Royeaux,” Coll said, taking up a mortar and a pestle in her hands, “Do it quick and come on back soon, will yeah? I’m bored without yeh.”

“You could come with me,” Kate suggested, but Coll wasn’t listening.

“First you go off to the woods, then Lysette up and joins the Inquisition. She’s off to some swamp to fight the walkin’ dead. Not my particular glass o’ brandy, if yeh get me. So I was left here, patchin’ up all the soldiers what was hurt.”

“You’ve done good work, Coll,” Kate said. “They were lucky to have you.”

“Sure, _they_ was lucky,” Coll frowned. “But what about me? After ‘twas all done, that’s still a heap o’ bodies with their guts hangin’ out that I couldn’t put back together. I still see ‘em in my mind when I walk about this place.” Coll absently grabbed a fistful of elfroot from a jar and then laid it on the table with a sigh.

“I need to get out of here, Kate,” she said.

“Oh,” Kate said, taken aback by that. “Maker’s breath, Coll. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize…”

“It’s alright,” Coll said, waving a hand. “I don’t want to think on that. I just want somethin’ other to do than mash up elfroot and look at that hole in the sky.”

As if to emphasize her words, Coll picked the the elfroot back up, dumped it into her mortar and started mashing it furiously.

“And the company around here, Kate! They’re all Chantry buggers, every last blessed one of ‘em. Did you know that the furry commander was once the knight-captain of _Kirkwall_?”

“Cullen? Er…yes, I heard that.”

“I gives him the stink eye every time he walks by,” Coll said, curling her lip and holding up her pestle angrily. “Just like this I do.”

She demonstrated for Kate’s benefit, and Kate drew back.

“That’s…that’s actually kind of terrifying, Coll,” Kate said.

“I know, right?” Coll said, suddenly grinning. “I works on it in the mirror when I gets the chance of it.

“If you’re bored, Coll,” Kate said, “Then come with me to Val Royeaux. It would be good to have you with me.”

“Oh feck no,” Coll said, mashing her elfroot with renewed vigor. “Anywhere but there. Take your new friends to that shining shite pile of a city, why don’t yeh?”

“Coll,” Kate said. “You’re not jealous of Solas and Varric are you?”

“Of the egg-headed elf and the carpet-chested dwarf? Not a chance. I know you’d never find anyone as amazin’ as me.”

Kate chuckled. No one could touch Coll’s enormous sense of self-regard. It was comforting, really.

“But Val Royeaux? Kate-lass. I’m _Dalish._ “

“You always say that you’re not Dalish anymore.”

“Aye, well, I change me mind about that dependin’ on the weather. Right now, the weather’s lookin’ like the Orlesians are feckers what have pissed on my people since before the blights…”

“Orlais didn’t _exist_ before the blights, Coll…”

”…and yet they’re still feckers,” Coll said, by way of concluding her argument. She raised the pestle in the air as if it were a beacon, lighting the truth of her statements.

”‘Sides,” Coll added, going back to her mashing. “There’s no proper herbs in a city.”

“You’d get to sail there,” Kate pointed out. “You’d see the sea again.”

“Aye,” Coll sighed, slowing her movements to a full stop and staring off into space. “I’d see the sea. There is that. Ah, shite. I hate boats, but love the water. How did I manage that?”

Kate was about to reply that she had no idea, when someone stuck their head into the healer’s hut.

“Excuse me.”

A new voice spoke, and Kate turned to see a very tanned soldier with short, brown hair standing in the doorway.

“Yes?” Kate asked, politely. Across the room, Kate heard something clatter loudly. She turned her head to see Coll go lunging for her dropped pestle as it rolled across the floor.

“I’m looking for…” the soldier began, eyes narrowing at Kate, and then at Coll in turn. “Well, I’m looking for one of you.”

“Mythal, let it be _me_ ,” Kate thought she heard Coll mutter.

“I’m looking for the Herald,” the soldier said.

“Ah, feck it,” Coll snapped. Kate’s brows furrowed as she watched Coll snag the pestle and then stand up straight. Coll hid the tool behind her back and shot the soldier a very bright smile. “Sure you don’t need a healer?” she asked.

“Uh, not at the moment, thankfully,” the soldier replied. “I was looking for the Herald of Andraste. Someone said she, well, that _you_ …”

Kate took mercy on the soldier’s confusion. She pushed away from the wall and held out her right hand politely.

“I’m Kate,” she said. “Or ‘the Herald,’ if you must. What can I do for you?”

“My name’s Cremisius Aclassi,” the soldier said, shaking Kate’s hand. “Well, Krem, rather.”

&lldquoAnd I’m Coll,” Coll said, wiping her hands on her apron before offering a hand to Krem. “Colleen Lavellen, that is. Should you ever need a healer.”

“Hello,” Krem said, shaking Coll’s hand as well. If the soldier was surprised to be so bluntly greeted by a Dalish elf, it didn’t show. Kate took that as a mark in Krem’s favor. Many humans got awfully snobby around elves, especially elves with tattoos.

“I’m glad I found you, Herald,” the soldier went on, turning back to Kate. “I kept trying to get someone to talk to me, but they all said they don’t want latrine duty and went back to their work.”

“What is it you need?” Kate asked him.

“I’m from the Bull’s Chargers,” Krem said. This was accompanied by a pause, as if this should mean something.

“Oh,” Kate said, politely. “How nice.”

“Yer with the Chargers?” Coll said, her eyes twinkling. “Yer shittin’ me.”

“Uh, no,” Krem replied. “That’s who I work for.”

“Blessed Andruil,” Coll chuckled, shaking her head.

“I think I missed something,” Kate said.

“They’re mercs,” Coll exclaimed, beaming now. “The feckin’ best. Loony as bollocks, too. Sure, you’ve never heard of ‘em, Kate?”

“Loony?” Krem repeated, frowning. “Who said we’re loony?”

“Coming from Coll, that’s a compliment,” Kate said, quickly stepping in to avoid offending the soldier. Beside her, Coll gave a great grin.

“I read about your company in a broadside,” she said. “Sure you read it, too, Kate. It was the one where…” Coll broke off, then snapped her fingers. “Ach, no. ‘Twas I what shelved ‘em. You was off in the arcane energies section of the library.”

“Right,” Krem said, unfazed by Coll’s rambling. “I was sent here to invite the Herald to come out to the Storm Coast and watch the Chargers work. Uh, to invite _you_ , that is.”

“The Storm Coast?” Kate repeated, her brows drawing together. “But isn’t that… That’s a long way off, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes,” the soldier hedged. “From West Hill’s docks it’s a two day hike along the coast to where we’re camped.”

Kate didn’t know the Storm Coast, but she knew the other side of the Waking Sea well enough. On the Wounded Coast, a ‘two-day hike’ could easily become a five-day slog of camping out in caves and waiting for the storms to pass.

“Bollocks, that is,” Coll snorted. “What, you just think your contracts will come find you in the arse end of nowhere?”

“They _do_ find us in the arse end of nowhere,” Krem replied, with such complete confidence that Kate believed it. “We’re the best. You won’t regret hiring us. Iron Bull - that’s our boss - he’s one of them qunari. You know, the big folk with the horns? Anyhow, he’s a first rate bodyguard. And the rest of us can handle pretty much whatever you throw at us.”

“Can you now?” Coll murmured, but Kate didn’t think Krem heard it.

“You won’t regret coming out to see us work,” Krem assured them.

“The Inquisition can use whatever help we can get,” Kate agreed. “But I don’t really have time to hike out to the Storm Coast just now. I need to head to…um, elsewhere.”

Kate caught herself at the last minute, not sure if she should speak of her travel plans to complete strangers.

“Perhaps if you spoke to Cullen,” Kate suggested.

“Already did this morning,” Krem said. “He said it was your call when you returned.”

“He did?” Kate asked, surprised that Cullen would leave such a decision to her. “But why…”

“Oh, sure, check it out, Kate,” Coll said, elbowing Kate in the ribs. “The more the merrier, right? ‘Sides, you hire a qunari, and the Chantry will shite itself.”

“Annoying the Chantry is not a good reason to hire mercs, Coll,” Kate said, rubbing her side.

”‘It’s not a bad reason, either,” Coll returned. “The Storm Coast, is it?” she added, jerking her chin at the soldier.

“That’s right,” Krem replied. “We’ve set up camp down the coast a ways. Shouldn’t be any Vints out there, but there are.”

“Vints?” Kate repeated.

“Tevinter mages,” Krem replied. “We ran into them on the last job, stayed on the coast to clean ‘em out.”

“Oh,” Kate said, frowning. So these Chargers were out hunting mages, were they? That was unnerving. And yet, Kate now wondered what Tevinter mages were doing on the Storm Coast. That was awfully far from home.

“I suppose that is worth looking into,” Kate mused.

“I’ll go for yeh,” Coll piped up.

“Go for me?” Kate repeated. “Go where?”

“Out to see ‘em kill us some ‘Vints,” Coll said, waving a tattooed hand at Krem. “Yeh can’t be in two places at once, so send me with Krem here. I’ll go check out these mercs for yeh.”

“Oh…” Krem blinked. “Well, the chief - Bull, that is - he wanted the Herald to come see for herself.”

“She’s got other places to be,” Coll said. “But I don’t. I’ll come see if he’s any good.”

Krem gave Coll a doubtful look, as did Kate.

“Coll, you hate being outdoors,” Kate reminded her.

“Haven’s as good as outdoors for all the fresh air up here,” Coll sniffed. “‘Sides,” Coll went on, “You don’t know the first thing about hirin’ mercs, do yeh Kate?”

“Well, _no_ ,” Kate admitted.

Neither did Coll, however. At least, Kate didn’t _think_ Coll had been in the business of hiring mercenaries before she arrived at the tower.

“Huh,” the brown-haired soldier said, frowning at them both. “I suppose it would be alright if Mistress, uh…Coll, was it?”

“That’s right,” Coll grinned at the honorific.

“If Mistress Coll is authorized to speak for the Inquisition, I suppose I could take her instead.”

Kate’s brows shot up. _Coll_ speaking for the Inquisition? Maker save them all. But then again, Kate thought, if _she_ was the Inquisition’s Herald, then why not?

“Of course I’m authorized,” Coll lied easily, waving one of her tattooed hands. “I’m Kate’s assistant in all things. Ain’t that right, Kate-lass?”

Kate shot Coll a wary look. ‘Ain’t that right, Kate-lass?’ was unmistakable Coll-speak for ‘agree with whatever I just said and don’t ask questions.’ As in, ‘Settin’ a pin on the First Enchanter’s chair? I was standin’ here the whole time, ain’t that right, Kate-lass?’ or ‘Sure I’d never replace all the prayer books in the chapel with erotic Antivan poetry, ain’t that right Kate-lass?’

“Coll…” Kate began, doubtfully.

And yet, she thought, why not? If Cullen left the hiring of the Changers up to Kate, then he couldn’t complain about how she did it. In the same way, if the leaders of the Inquisition made Kate their Herald, then they couldn’t much complain about how she spoke to the Chantry on their behalf. So why _not_ send the wild Dalish to recruit the mercenaries? It just about made sense, really.

“Sure,” Kate said. “You go check out the qunari, Coll.”

“Right-o!” Coll said brightly.

“There’s more to the Chargers than just the qunari,” Krem grumbled.

”‘Course there is, love,” Coll smiled. “There’s you.”

“Right.” The soldier glanced at Kate hesitantly. “You sure about this, Herald?”

“Yes,” Kate said, decisively. “I need to go elsewhere and Coll is a good judge of character. I can set you as far as West Hill if you’re able to leave at once.”

“I am,” Krem said. “I’ll meet you by the stables then.” A head of brown hair nodded at Kate, and then at Coll.

“Ta!” Coll said, waving a hand. She came to join Kate in the doorway as Krem walked away. “We’re right behind yeh, we are!”

And now, suddenly, Kate spotted it. There was an unmistakable gleam in Coll’s eyes as she stared after Krem’s backside. Kate turned to her friend with a groan.

“Really Coll?” she said, exasperated now. “I thought this was about wanting to get away from here, but you’d go halfway up the coast just to chase that fellow around?”

“Shut it,” Coll hissed back. “He might hear you.”

“And Lavellen?” Kate asked. “That’s new.”

”‘Tis my birth-clan,” Coll shrugged. “I use it when I want to sound respectable-like.”

“Clearly you’ve never cared to sound respectable before,” Kate observed dryly. She paused, then added, “He’s handsome. I’ll grant you that. Or… wait…” Kate trailed off as realization dawned. “Wait, _she’s_ handsome? Was that…?” Kate pointed a finger after the brown-haired soldier and her face scrunched up in confusion. “I didn’t realize…”

Coll sighed heavily. “For all your Circle learning, there are so many things you don’t understand. _Lan him lin,_ Kate.”

“Oh,” Kate said. Her elvish was rather poor, but she thought she understood what Coll meant. “So that’s… Oh. Alright then.”

“He’s a very lovely shem,” Coll said, sighing as Krem disappeared from view. “And that’s how I like ‘em. Pretty and earthy and not likely teh mess with yer heart.”

Kate heard a small snort. For a moment, she thought it had come from Coll. Her friend was now scowling, her eyes fixed on a spot across the yard in front of the healer’s hut.

“Feckin’ chancer,” Coll grumbled. “Not natural, the way he watches a body. Always listenin’ with those long ears o’ his.”

“Who?” Kate asked. “Do you mean Solas?” For Kate saw no one there but the bald elf, and he was gazing off at the hills. It didn’t seem he was paying attention to either of them.

“Never mind him,” Coll said, waving a tattooed hand.

“Just please tell me that sleeping with Krem is not the only reason you wanted to go off to the Storm Coast,” Kate urged Coll. “If you’re speaking for me - for the Inquisition…” Kate trailed off there. If Cullen was leaving this decision up to her, then he couldn’t complain about how Kate chose to deal with it.

“You know what Coll?” she said. “Speak for the Inquisition. Have fun on the Storm Coast. I hope you get your earthy lover, and if the mercs give you trouble, don’t hold back on them.”

“An’ _that’s_ me friend talkin’!” Coll laughed. “Sure but I think I can handle goin’ to watch a couple of mercs pick a fight in the rain. How hard can it be?” She waved a hand as if there was a fight going on right in front of the cabin. “‘Oh, aye, look, yeh can kill shite!’” Coll clapped her hands in approval at the empty air. “‘Good on you, horn head. Now get in the boat and let’s go on back to Kate.’ Real simple, right? I think I can manage it.”

“Real simple,” Kate said, dryly.

“Oh look now,” Coll said, patting Kate on the shoulder. “I heard yer speech same as everyone else. Good speech, by the by, never did tell you that. And I understand what we’re to do. We shut that breach, we prove we’re on the right side and the Chantry shems don’t kill us. I got the plan. And I won’t embarrass you, I promise.”

“You never embarrass me, Coll,” Kate said. “Exasperate me, maybe, but not embarrass.”

“Ah, creators love you for your bullshite,” Coll laughed. “But… Ooch! Look at me talkin! I’d better pack me bags. And me potions. Oh! And I’ll bring some empty bags with me, too. There’s black lotus on the coast, and more spindleweed there than around these parts. Alright then, ta, Kate. Off yeh get! See you at the stables, love!”

* * *

“Trevelyan!”

Kate was on her way down the stables when she heard him. She knew that voice, and had rather hoped to avoid hearing it again before leaving. With her bag on her shoulder, Kate turned very slowly and saw Cullen approaching. Behind him walked a rather nondescript soldier in scout gear.

Just like that, Kate went from relaxed to desperately self-conscious. She recalled every angry word she’d said in the Chantry, and the state in which she’d left the war room.

“Oh,” Kate said, taking refuge in reserve, lest her nervousness show, “Commander. I was just…”

“Trevelyan,” Cullen said again, reaching her and offering her a short bow. “You forgot your letters of recommendation.”

He held out a folded parchment, and Kate stared at it in confusion.

“I don’t…” she began.

“Josephine apologizes profusely,” Cullen told her, as Kate took the letters. “She would be doing so to your face, but some dignitary or other needed her attention right away. Leliana would not want me to say it, but I think your display of power impressed her a great deal. So few people are a threat to her, I think she likes you better now that she believes you’re unpredictable and dangerous.”

“I’m neither unpredictable nor dangerous,” Kate said, frowning at him. Cullen just looked at her doubtfully.

“I’m _not_ ,” Kate said, pointedly.

“Well,” he coughed, “Cassandra said, ‘your condemnation of the Chantry was harsh, but well deserved,’ and she approves of your taking charge. She’s waiting for you at the stables, by the way,” he added, before Kate could protest that she wasn’t taking charge, not exactly.

“And as for me…”

Kate sucked in a breath, not sure if she wanted to hear this or not. It seemed very unfair that Cullen would judge her, when Kate was still in the process of silently judging _him_.

“Commander, I…” she began.

“I hope the templars didn’t…” he caught himself and shook his head. “No, that’s not… That’s not my…” He cleared his throat and tried again.

“What you said just now,” Cullen told her. “You have a point.”

Kate hadn’t been expecting _that_. She stared at him as he went on.

“The Chantry caused this mess,” Cullen said, looking down at his large boots. “The rest of us, we’re just trying to fix it. However, I can see that I - that _we_ \- haven’t been very good about communicating the Inquisition’s goals with you.”

“Oh, I understand them quite well…” Kate began.

“But you don’t,” Cullen said, cutting her off. “We don’t expect you to - what? Put the Chantry back in power? Maker’s breath, that would solve nothing.”

_That_ caught Kate off guard. Wasn’t that exactly what Cullen wanted to do?

“But you want me to recruit the templars,” she said, scowling at him.

“Of course I do,” he agreed, stoutly. “I know good men and women in the Order: people who have devoted their lives to serving others.”

_Serving others?_ Kate thought. Was that what the templars were calling the Circles these days? But she said nothing as Cullen went on:

“Many of the templars would be honored to join us, if only we can convince the officers. They could help us seal the breach and bolster our ranks all at once.”

“And the rebel mages couldn’t do either, I suppose,” Kate said, drawing her folded arms even more closely to her chest.

“The mages hid themselves behind walls the first chance they got,” Cullen said with a snort and a wave of his hand. “They’re little better than…” he trailed off, as if realizing who he was speaking to.

“Little better than _what_ , commander?” Kate asked, her eyes narrowing.

“I know you won’t like to hear this,” Cullen said, and his gentle tone annoyed Kate even more than his dismissive one, “but most mages don’t know how to deal with day-to-day life, sheltered as they are. Don’t get me wrong,” he added, over her squeak of outrage. “They have brilliant minds. They are some of the best educated people in Thedas. But they’re not ready for the rigors of the outside world, let alone the rigors of war. It’s not their fault,” he added, when Kate opened her mouth to protest. “The fault lies with the Chantry, surely. But there it is all the same.”

The fact that there was truth to his words did nothing to improve Kate’s temper.

“The Chantry clips our wings, then you complain when we cannot fly,” Kate said, angrily. “How are mages to learn anything but captivity if you don’t give them the chance?”

“Right under the _breach_? Where’s the sense in that? I’ve seen no fewer than six mages get possessed since that thing opened.” Cullen drew back with a shudder, his eyes going slightly unfocused. “It was horrible every time. No one wants that to happen again - least of all the mages.”

“That isn’t…,” Kate sputtered, “You can’t know…ugh!” She felt frost on her fingers again, but clutched her hands tightly to her sides.

“Please excuse me, commander,” she said, in clipped tones. “But I’m afraid I don’t have time to argue this anymore. This _helpless mage_ has a boat to catch.”

“Oh, come now,” Cullen said reaching out as if to stop her from walking past him. Kate drew back so that he couldn’t touch her, but she came to a stop all the same.

“We’re on the same side here, you and I,” Cullen said. “And while I’d rather not involve the Chantry if we can help it, Josephine may be right. It may be the best way to fix things.”

“If they see reason,” Kate said.

“It does seem like a long shot,” Cullen agreed. “But if they don’t, we’ll find a way. Look,” he added, ducking his head a little to try and catch her eye. “You needn’t go to Val Royeaux if you don’t want to. We can send Cassandra, I suppose.”

Kate glanced over at him doubtfully.

“I know,” he agreed to what she had not said. “Cassandra’s as likely to alienate the Chantry forever as to win them to our side. But we aren’t forcing you to make the journey. The risk is yours, and so must the choice be.”

“Oh, I’m going,” Kate said, firmly. “We need the breach closed and the only place to find allies is in Orlais. I understand the stakes, commander. I’ll carry out this mission. But I’m going to do it my way.”

Kate had thought this might alarm Cullen, but instead, he seemed pleased. The corner of his lips quirked up and he said:

“Good. Very good. That’s… Well.” He cleared his throat. “In that case, I wish you luck in Orlais. It’s a self-indulgent, worthless country, but important people live there. Why, they live there, I couldn’t say. But they do.”

In spite of her anger, this statement nearly made Kate laugh. It seemed that disdain for the pomp of Val Royeaux was something that she and the commander had in common.

The trouble was, Kate realized, she and Cullen actually had several things in common - distrust of the Chantry being just one of them. But they had been raised on opposite sides of the Circle, and that made for a great divide between them.

“I suppose I should be going then,” Kate said, feeling deflated again. She had resolved nothing, she realized - not where the Chantry was concerned, nor where Cullen was concerned. He was treating her with respect and consideration and that just made her feel wildly confused.

“If you are to go to Val Royeaux,” Cullen went on, “I want to offer you additional protection.”

“Protection?” Kate said, drawing back warily. “Wait. You’re not going _with_ me, are you?”

“What? No! I can’t, but…” Cullen leaned forward a bit as he asked, “Did you _want_ me to come with you?”

“No! I mean, no, thank you. I mean, surely you have duties here.”

“I do,” Cullen said, frowning. “We have a great number of new recruits from the Hinterlands, and very few officers to train them. I need to be here in these early stages. But I thought it would be good to send a bodyguard with you. Besides Cassandra, that is. She’ll do well, but I thought perhaps… Well, one of my men…”

For some reason, Cullen now looked a bit flustered, though Kate could not imagine why.

“He might seem a bit…” Cullen began. “Oh blast, you’ll see. But know that he _is_ there to help.”

He cleared his throat, then turned to the man behind him. The soldier was crouched on his haunches, poking at a weed that had popped through the snow. In spite of the greatsword on his back, the man’s movements and posture were like that of a giant child.

“Trevelyan, this is Morris.”

“Hello Ser Morris,” Kate said politely. The man did not respond.

“No, not ‘ser,’” Cullen explained. “He never officially joined the templars or took lyrium. Probably just as well. The lyrium might have sent him completely round the bend, since he was already a bit…well… Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.”

Kate wasn’t sure it was a good idea either. It appeared that Morris was ‘the dim one’ that Varric had spoken of.

“Morris is from Kirkwall?” Kate asked, before she could think better of it.

“Ah, yes,” Cullen said absently. “I know he doesn’t look like much, but allow me to demonstrate.”

With that odd statement, Cullen turned and drew his sword. Kate watched, fascinated. Cullen was so smooth and silent in his movements, it was like he was a bear-shadow creeping over the ground. She wouldn’t have thought someone so _large_ could be so sneaky.

Then, just as he reached Morris, Cullen struck. His sword slashed downward, but at the same moment, Morris shot to his feet with a spin, moving so quickly that Kate saw nothing but a blur. The next second, he was standing, at guard, with Cullen stumbling back from the force of Morris’ parry. The fellow paused there, then returned his sword to its holder with a smile.

“Good one, ser!” he said, cheerfully. “You almost got me that time.”

Not even close, Kate thought. Cullen was quite impressive - she didn’t know a lot about fighting, but she could see he was very talented. But this Morris was so skilled that his movements almost looked like magic. Morris turned then, and noticed Kate.

“Oh, look,” he said to Cullen, pointing right at her. “It’s the pretty mage, ser.”

“Er, yes.” Cullen sheathed his sword without looking at Kate.

“Pretty mage?” Kate repeated, feeling absurdly flattered.

“That’s what _I_ called you,” Morris explained. “The commander didn’t agree.”

Cullen made a strange sort of choking sound. “That’s not what I… Maker’s breath, Morris.”

“Oh,” Kate said.

Fair enough, she thought acidly. It wasn’t as if she wanted or needed Cullen’s approval. Still, it was rude of him to gossip about her looks in front of the troops.

“I didn’t _disagree_. I just never said…” Cullen made a sound of frustration.

“You look quite healthy,” he told Kate. His tone remained blunt and practical as ever, though he would not meet her eyes. “Fresh air and travel is quite becoming on you. You look very…” he coughed here, so Kate almost missed his next words: “Very fit. Anyhow, this is Morris, and Morris is my best fighter.” Cullen waved a hand at the man beside him. “He’ll watch your back in Val Royeaux.”

“The commander doesn’t know what to do with me here,” Morris said. “I get in the way.”

“I never said that either,” Cullen frowned at him.

_Oh,_ Kate thought, her heart going out to the odd fellow. How sad. He was like a tall puppy. A puppy with a greatsword and the speed of a griffon.

“Well then, Messere Morris,” Kate said with a smile, “that makes a pair of us. The entire world doesn’t know what to do with _me_ , and I’ve gotten in the way of a great number of people.”

“I heard about that,” the fellow said, nodding. “They don’t like that you’re the Herald.” He paused, then added, “I don’t like the name ‘Harold’. It sounds like an old man.”

“So it does,” Kate said, her lips quirking in a smile. “Please call me ‘Kate.’”

“Alright, Pretty Mage Kate.”

Kate could not help but chuckle. even as Cullen gave an embarrassed sort of sigh.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Morris,” she said. Kate held her hand out to him, but Morris just stared at it blankly. He then abruptly turned and walked away.

“See you at the stables Pretty Mage Kate,” he called over his shoulder.

Kate would have laughed again, only she realized that Morris had effectively left her alone with Cullen. That wiped the smile right off of her face. But if he noticed the changed in her demeanor, Cullen did not comment on it.

“His sword arm will be more use to you than his tact, I’m afraid,” Cullen said.

“Much like Cassandra, then,” Kate quipped, before she could think better of it.

Cullen chuckled and cast her a sidelong glance that made her blush. Kate felt like they were sharing a private joke again, some subtle connection that no one else was privy to. She wanted to enjoy it, but she couldn’t quite. Likely, Kate thought, she never would feel entirely comfortable around Cullen again. Not, she added, that she’d ever felt entirely comfortable around him before now.

“Oi! Kate!”

Just then, Coll came striding up with a massive pack on her back.

“What are yeh standin’ here for?” the elf demanded. “We need to… Oh.”

Coll drew up short when she saw Cullen standing there.

“Mistress Colleen,” Cullen said politely.

“Yeah?” Coll said, accompanying this eloquence with a sneer. Her lip curled, and just as she had demonstrated before, she cast Cullen ‘teh stink eye.’

“Ah, nothing,” Cullen said, drawing back from the short elf. “Have a good journey, both of you.”

“Hmpf,” Coll snorted. She looped her free arm in Kate’s arm and began to draw Kate away. And Kate probably would have left in a very regal show of silence and reserve, had not her manners kicked in at the last moment.

“Goodbye, Cullen,” she called to him, over her shoulder. But Coll pulled her around sharply, and so Kate missed Cullen’s hesitant wave in return.


	23. Letters from Val Royeaux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Nightengale is in your camp reading your mail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The letter style formatted MUCH better at [SageFic.com](http://sagefic.com/). That formatting did not quite translate. Even if you comment here at AO3, I highly recommend you read this chapter at my site for ease of flow. Thanks! - sage

 To Sister L -

V.R. remains quiet. Knights in spire identified as lower-ranking soldiers. No officers within miles - anticipate the H. will have easy time recruiting them. Mother Hevara has been preaching in the city square each day. Unless you want us to knock her out and gag her (please?), we scouts are doing nothing but patiently awaiting the H.

– Char

 

Charter has the Val Royeaux scouts in place. Templars ripe for the plucking. Herald and Cassandra should be able to gather them quickly.

– L

 

“Ripe for the plucking?” “Gather them?” You make it sound like the templars are apples. It’s somewhat disturbing.

– C.

 

I prefer plums, actually. By the way, have your soldiers found the artifact at the blast site yet?

– L

 

Keran and his men have been scouting the temple ruins for days and found nothing.

While I entirely agree that a powerful artifact must have been involved in the Conclave explosion (nothing short of a kingdom’s worth of sacrifices and 7 magisters could tear the Veil open otherwise), it would be helpful to have _some_ idea what we were looking for. Wasn’t it Solas who suggested that a foci was involved? Ask him about it, would you?

Also, templars are not like apples _or_ plums, thank you very much. We’re like guard-hounds, if anything. Actually, don’t use that metaphor either.

– C.

 

I can’t recall if Solas suggested the foci or if I did. We spoke of the explosion, and concluded that an artifact must have been used.

As for the nature of the artifact involved, I don’t know what I would look like, but I assume it would stand out in the blast crater. Look for anything that’s not made of red lyrium or ash.

And I would ask Solas for clarification, certainly - but if you recall, he is protecting the Herald as she ventures to Val Royeaux. To get the plum-templars.

– L

 

Oh, right. And do stop comparing the templars to fruit, if you please.

– C.

 

Cullen, do you know why Leliana is asking for plums to be included in our food order? They aren’t available this time of year, even from Antiva.

– Josephine

 

Don’t ask.

Can we get apples instead?

– C.

 

To Sister L -

The H. arrived at the V.R. docks. Shadowing her progress to the Grand Cathedral. Will send updates as often as possible.

– Char

 

SER COLON. WE WENT TO VAL ROYO LIKE YOU SAID TO. BUT A TEMPLAR PUNCHED A CLARIK IN THE FACE. I DON’T THINK HE SHUD DO THAT. THE HAROLD YELLED AT HIM. THEN THE LORD SEKER CAME AND TOOK ALL THE TEMPLARS AWAY. LADY CASANADRA WAS MAD. THE HAROLD WAS MAD. VARRIC MADE JOKES AND THEN LADY CASANDRA WAS MAD AT HIM, TO. THE BALD ELF DIDN’T SAY ANY THING. THE HAROLD TRIED TO TELL THE TEMPLARS THAT YOU WERE WITH THE INKWASISHUN. THE LORD SEKER SAID ‘SER COLON IS A TRAYTOR’ AND THE HAROLD TURNED ALL ICY WHEN HE SAID THAT. SHE HAD SNOW ON HER AND EVERY THING. THEN THE TEMPLARS LEFT. THEN AN ELF NAMED FEEOWNA SAID SHE WANTED TO JOIN US. ANOTHER ELF WANTS TO JOIN US, TO. HER NAME IS RED GINEE AND SHE SENT US ON A TRESHUR HUNT AFTER SHOOTING AN ARROW AT OUR FEET. SHE HAS A BAD HAIR KUT AND SHE SAYS I’M A LAFF. THE HAROLD WENT TO A FANSY PARTEE TONITE AND WHEN SHE COMES BACK WE’LL TAKE THE BOWT HOME.

YOR FRIND, MORRIS

 

Thank you for forwarding the message from Morris, Leliana. Also, thank you for instructing your scouts not to laugh overmuch at his phrasing.

– C.

 

Of course, Ser Colon.

– L

 

I am never going to live that down, am I?

– C.

 

Never.

– L

 

To Sister L -

Madam, I apologize. The situation in V.R. went sour, and I accept full responsibility. I understand, of course, if a termination of my contract is in order. The good news is that the H. is unharmed. The bad news is - well, it’s still a bit unclear _what_ happened, exactly.

First, you must know that the Lord Seeker managed to get past our scouts without being seen. None of us have any idea how he did this. We were monitoring all the major routes of the city, paying off the guards, and I even had a couple of scouts watching the sewers. Absolutely no one saw him arrive. It’s like he popped up inside the White Spire out of thin air. Then, suddenly, he and the templars were marching on the square, just as the H. arrived. Uncanny timing.

We got into place around the square as instructed, ready for an ambush on the H. However, said ambush never took place. Instead, the Lord Seeker allowed a templar to punch the prattling Mother Hevara (I would have cheered at that, only it would have given away our position). It seemed like there would be further conflict, but the templars grew reluctant to engage once Morris reached for sword and placed himself in front of the H. Lord Seeker hastily denounced the H. and marched away. That was all. The H. and Seeker C. tried to persuade the templars not to leave, but it didn’t do any good. The templars followed the Lord Seeker out of the city and set sail on a ship bound for Gwaren. I was not able to get anyone stowed away aboard that vessel (again, the sudden arrival of the Lord Seeker had us all scrambling). However, I have sent two scouts to follow after at a safe distance. You may, perhaps, wish to send scouts to South Reach to track the templars. They should be easy enough to follow. They sound like a bunch of pots and pans clattering down the road.

Unfortunately, in all this confusion, we lost sight of the H. for a few hours. (As I said before, I accept responsibility for this failure.) One witness said he saw the H. speaking to a dark-haired elf in a robe. This was immediately following the templar incident, but we cannot confirm or deny that such a conversation took place. A dark-haired elf would match the description of Grand Enchanter Fiona, however. We understand that she landed in V.R. that morning and left again that evening. We also received reports that a nobleman known to harbor anti-Inquisition sentiments turned up dead in an alleyway, along with several dead men without pants. (?) Signs of battle all around. Unclear if H. involved. Cannot confirm her movements, however, not without leaving cover to speak to the H. directly. And you did instruct us not to do that, ma’am.

The H. reappeared again after nightfall, checking into her inn as expected. She immediately went out again, taking Morris with her. We trailed them to Duke Bastien’s town home, where the H. went inside for only an hour (leaving M. outside, naturally) before returning to the inn.

The H. and company set sail from V.R. docks this morning. A blonde elf (unclear if this is the same elf as before or a new associate) boarded as well. She signed the ship’s log as ‘Lady Bits in Lady Pants.’ As we have no record of this alias (if it _is_ an alias), we can only assume she wishes to remain unknown. On the other hand, First Enchanter Vivienne (could spot her a mile away with that horned helmet of hers), also boarded with the H. She loudly announced that she was joining the Inquisition to anyone who would listen. All are on their way to West Hill.

So, mission cocked up, but at least no one died. Awaiting further instructions, ma’am.

– Char

 

Well, that escalated quickly.

– Josephine

 

Indeed. I’ll plan a debrief with Charter when she returns. And don’t worry, Josie. I won’t terminate her.

– L

 

You mean terminate Charter’s contract, correct?

– Josephine

 

Oh, of course. I won’t terminate her contract, either.

– L

 

You meant terminate her life, didn’t you?

– Josephine

 

Leliana?

– Josephine

 

Maker’s breath! Templars punching clerics? The Lord Seeker showing up in the Spire and taking control of the templars? Elves popping up out of nowhere and I can only assume that ‘FEEOWNA’ is, indeed, Grand Enchanter Fiona, leader of the mage rebellion. I see _she_ showed up as soon as the templars were out of the picture. And ‘RED GINEE’? Surely Trevelyan didn’t make contact with an actual member of the Red Jennies. I thought they were a Denerim myth.

How did all this get past your people, Leliana? I swear, Morris is better at reconnaissance than your scouts are.

– C.

 

Come now, Ser Colon. That was uncalled for.

– L

 

No, _that_ was uncalled for.

– C.

 

You’re just annoyed that the templars took off to Maker knows where and the mages are the now willing to negotiate with us. Admit it.

– L

 

I’m not — Fine. An alliance with Fiona and the rebels will be problematic, especially in light of what just happened in Val Royeaux. We will further upset the Chantry by siding with the rebellion, and I don’t have nearly enough templars to deal with any problems that might crop up with the mages. Besides, I hate to abandon the templars to the Lord Seeker’s dubious care. Maker only knows what he’s up to, ~~plucking~~ recruiting the templars like that. I worry for the younger knights especially.

Please have your scouts find out where he’s taking them, Leliana. This won’t end well, I fear.

– C.

 

Don’t worry, Cullen. My people are already tracking the templars. We’ll watch the entire situation carefully, and make a decision about which group to approach when the Herald and Cassandra return.

– L

 

“Make a decision,” is it? I think we already know what she plans to do.

– C.

 

By ‘she,’ are you referring to the Herald or to Lady Cassandra, Cullen? Because if you can anticipate Cassandra’s decisions and moods, please let me know how you managed it. I can never determine what that woman is thinking.

– Josephine

 

That makes two of us, but no, I meant Trevelyan. I’ll start preparing the soldiers for an influx of mages in Haven. Maker help us all.

– C.

 

She hasn’t decided anything yet. And the mages may surprise you with their competence, commander.

– L

 

I notice you didn’t reply to my earlier note, Cullen. I’ll not read into that.

I also notice that neither of you seem to think that the disappearance of the Grey Wardens is suspicious. I still say we should look into it.

– L

 

Wardens are wanderers. Everyone knows that. Besides, Ruvena said she saw a Grey Warden just last week, passing through the Hinterlands.

If you’re that worried, I suggest that we ask the Herald to track the fellow down when she gets the chance. I’d send my own people after him, but the Herald is a bit more persuasive than the foot soldiers are. Hard to argue with the mark on her hand, after all.

– C.

 

Good idea, Cullen. I’ll send word to West Hill and see if she’s willing to track down that warden sooner rather than later.

– L

 

This just arrived, along with an empty mustard jar:

I’m on my way to join your party Because it sounds like fun And the sky’s got its trousers down. Best not tell anyone I’m with you But they wouldn’t know me anyway. I’m thinking jars of…bees?

Does this make sense to either of you?

– Josephine

 

No.

– C.

 

No.

– L

 

How odd.

Well at least _this_ next letter makes sense. You recognize the name, Leliana? At last, someone with connections.

We can build on this, I am sure of it.

– Josephine

* * *

To Ambassador Montilyet, Sister Leliana, and Knight-Captain Cullen:

Greetings to you all. My name is Vivienne, First Enchanter of the Monstimmard Circle (position pending), Enchanter to the Imperial Court, and Mistress to Duke Bastien de Ghislain. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

I just finished speaking with your _charming_ Herald. She was kind enough to attend my little soiree just now, and I must say, she is a _treasure._ I was inclined to think well of her, as my dear friend Senior Enchanter Lydia of the Ostwick Circle always spoke so highly of her protege. But now, having met Lady Katerina Trevelyan, I am quite impressed by the young woman on her own merits as well. She clearly knows how to navigate the social waters with grace and decorum. (Though really, I would suggest that the Inquisition employ a better tailor for her as soon as may be arranged. The Herald is quite striking on her own, but a bit of help in the form of more imposing armor would do wonders to further the Inquisition’s image.)

The Herald and I enjoyed a lengthy discussion of the situation in Thedas these days. While I am a _touch_ troubled by her youthful optimism (she is less wary of the mage rebellion than she ought to be, I believe), I have no doubt that Lady Katerina is more concerned with closing the breach than furthering any particular political agenda of her own. That is _so_ refreshing a thing to see, especially to one as deeply involved in the Grand Game as myself. Your little Herald really does you all great credit.

As such, I have agreed to join your cause. I fear that magic cut this hole in the sky and thus, I strongly feel that magic may be needed to close it. As the Monstimmard Circle has fallen, I bring no mage but myself to your aid. However, I am an enchantress of no small talent, and as a further advantage I know a great many people in Val Royeaux and, well, nearly everywhere. I require no compensation for my help, except for a little room to set up a proper magical study. I would prefer to be in a non-flammable building with a high ceiling, if you please. Alchemy has a tendency to be a bit dangerous. But then, all magic is, as you well know.

I will meet you all shortly, and send my fondest affection and regards.

Yours, Vivienne

 

> First Enchanter of Monstimmard (position pending) Enchanter to the Imperial Court Mistress to Duke Bastien de Ghislain

(dictation taken down by Tim, undersecretary to the Ghislains)

 

Is that woman serious? Who introduces themselves as a mistress? I can’t tell if she’s joking or what.

– C.

 

That’s just Vivienne, commander. She’s always like that. You get used to it.

– L

 

In Orlais, a consort is a respectable position, Cullen. And thank the Maker that our Herald held her own at an impromptu Orlesian party, without us to coach her through the evening. She may not have gotten the templars on our side, but at least she can manage simple diplomacy. That is a great relief.

– Josephine

 

A great relief indeed. Because even if we have no templars or mages to close the breach, perhaps we can talk it shut.

– C.

 

I didn’t mean it like that. You _are_ in a foul mood today, aren’t you commander? Is it another headache?

– Josephine

 

Yes. It is. And…thank you for asking. And for the tea.

– C.

 

To Sister L -

Copying the message that just arrived here at West Hill for the Herald. For your records, ma’am:

– S

* * *

Kate!

So, this is Coll, leaving you a message because all this merc business is taking longer than I expected. Also, getting into the lovely lieutenant’s bed is taking longer than I expected, too. Ah, sweet anticipation.

First things first. Why didn’t you remind me that I hate the outdoors? The outdoors is bollocks. There’s a reason the ancient elves lived indoors and it’s because roofs are the best invention since roofs. This camping-out shite is for the birds. And speaking of birds, they’re noisier from inside a tent. Owls waking me all night and tweeting birds waking me in the morning. Makes me want to blast them all with fire. And I did, actually. Krem and I had a roasted owl one morning for breakfast. Not as bad as you’d think, either. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

We found the horn-head. He was fighting horn-heads. Not other qunari, mind you, but Tevinter mages with the stupidest helmets you’ve ever seen. It’s like they wanted to grow up to be unicorns, and this was the best they could manage. Anyhow, the Chargers are pretty amazing. Even I was impressed. Krem’s a wonder with sword and shield, that ‘Bull’ fellow uses an axe that’s taller and heavier than me. Alright, that’s not saying much, but still. He’s also a walking grey-muscle pillow with his titties hanging out and a complete pain in the arse. We were trading insults within a minute of meeting each other, so you know he’s alright. Krem says I fit right in, which is a laugh. If this Inquisition thing doesn’t work out for us, I think we can get a job with these mercs. What do you say to that, Kate? Yeah, I don’t think so either.

By the way, Iron Bull is Ben Hassrath - a qunari secret police spy. You remember learning about them in history class, right? Makes sense, really. Why else would he want to join our merry band of loonies? Turns out the Qun wants to keep an eye on the breach. That means they want to keep an eye on _you_ while you seal the breach. But it’s not like we could stop the Ben Hassrath from spying on us from afar, right. Might as well let them get up close. I figure the Nightengale already knows about all this though. Come to think of it, she’s probably going to get a copy of this letter, isn’t she? Alright, Nightengale, if you’re reading this, keep the bit about me wanting the bed the shem lieutenant to yourself, will you? Right. Thanks.

Alright, so we took out the Vints, Bull’s a right weird one, Krem’s beautiful when he’s got rain pouring down his face (Again, Nightengale, keep that to yourself), and _then_ everything went fecked. We got a message that some of the Inquisition scouts went missing. Now, you know I _really_ don’t like trouble, Kate (except when pretty people are involved), but I thought to myself, ‘Now what would Kate do if she was here?’ And knowing you, you’d go off running to save those people, no matter how long you were out in the rain and muck or whatever. So I thought, ‘Ah, shite, Kate. Why do you have to be so noble? I hate that about you.’ (But not really, Kate. You’re lovely.)

Anyhow, me and the Chargers off and went to look for the Inquisition scouts, and that’s why we’re not gonna meet you at West Hill for a boat ride to Haven. Not to worry though. I’m sure we’ll see you in a few weeks time and it will be all lovely. Hopefully by then, I’ll have gotten Krem to share my tent. Wish me luck and a good bedding!

– Coll

 

Ben Hassrath? Seriously?

And _this_ is the person Trevelyan sent to recruit the mercenaries? Maker’s breath.

– C.

 

The Ben Hassrath already sent us the payments, Cullen. I set up the accounts last week.

Also, that Dalish concerns me. She has no history prior to showing up in the Ostwick Circle. But I’m working on it.

– L

 

So long as we’re working on things, can we work on finding some more room for out soldier’s tents? The shore of the lake is getting crowded. I’d like to use that clearing near the healer’s hut, if we can manage it.

– C.

 

And that means Lady Dummar will need to move out of said healer hut, yes? Of course it does. Alright, I’ll see what I can do. All she does is complain about the cold, so I don’t understand why she insists on this extended pilgrimage.

– Josephine

 

I would happily move our troops to some other location if I could. Corporal Vale has a handful of recruits that I need to go inspect soon, so perhaps the Crossroads would do?

– C

 

You know we can’t do that, Cullen. That brief altercation with the duRelions aside (which, thank the Maker, was easily handled), Haven is the only spot in Thedas that ‘belonged’ to Divine Justina. This is holy ground, and therefore neutral ground.

If we move our base of operations into either Ferelden or Orlais, we will be seen as an invading army. The political scandal could well end us - not to mention, any troops sent to remove us.

– Josephine

 

So the banns of Ferelden and the lords of Orlais will allow us to patrol their outlying farms, to close their rifts, and save their peasants, but Andraste forbid that we actually live on their land somewhere safe and central and sane?

And you wonder why I get so exasperated with the nobility.

Fine. It’s not like vacant, neutral-ground fortresses are just lying around, waiting to be occupied. We’ll make do with living on this mountain ridge, even if it is like setting up camp on a knife’s edge.

But I will remind you: winter is coming. If you don’t like Haven now, you’re going to hate it when a Frostback blizzard rolls in.

– C.

 

Oh, stop, you two. You know we need to stand our ground here, if only to show the world that nothing - not even the Chantry - can expel us from this spot.

And speaking of that, we have a situation, commander. This was delivered by one of my scouts. It bore the note, ‘Only the Eyes of the Sky-Tearer and the Commander of her Sky-Armies may view this letter.’ Naturally, I read it at once. It complicates things, as you will see.

– L

* * *

To the Sky-Tearer and the Commander of her Sky-Armies (Lady Katerina and Commander Cullen):

You have offended the Lady of the Skies with your claw-magic (they blame you for the breach). I, the Hand of Korth (the Avvar chieftains’ son) challenge you to a shield-reckoning (duel) on behalf of our Lady (his goddess, I presume). I have taken your Shield-Sister (Ser Lysette of Ostwick) and her War-Makers (Sword Regiment One). They reside with us in the Mire of the Dead (the Fallow Mire) at the Rotting Keep (several miles past Fisher’s End was where they ambushed us. This looks like a Grey Warden outpost, could probably find it on an old map).

Your shield-siblings are as yet unharmed (that’s true. Don’t worry about us). So long as you answer our challenge by the Lady’s Day (I don’t know what this is. A week from now? A month?), we will let them go (doubtful. don’t listen to him).

But because I am a proud warrior (he’s a posturing oaf) I will not fight a weak, spirit-siphoning augur (a mage?). I demand that the Sky-Tearer appoint the Sky-Army-Commander as her champion (meaning Commander Cullen). I will fight him and kill him while she looks on with salt-tears. (Lady Kate, and Commander Cullen, too, we’re fine. Don’t risk your safety over this idiot. We’ll find a way to break free. I just have to keep writing so he doesn’t get too suspicious)

As the Hand of Korth does not deal in the bewitched letters of the heathen lowlanders, this message has been recorded by Ser Lysette of Ostwick. (Thank the Maker he doesn’t read.)

 

I think my headache just became a migraine.

– C.

 

You must do something! We can’t possibly leave our people to die in the mire. Regardless of if the templars or mages join us, we must protect our own. If we abandon our own people, we may as well tears ourselves apart from the inside out.

– Josephine

 

This will require a delicate touch. Commander, when you have a moment, meet me in the Chantry and we can discuss the best way to approach this.

– L

 

Of course I’m not going to abandon these soldiers in the mire, Josephine. For the Maker’s sake, what do you take me for? Leliana and I have decided on a way to handle it. Send a message — Never mind. _I’ll_ send a message to the Herald, and hope it reaches her in time. If we can intercept her at West Hill, this rescue will go a great deal more quickly.

– C.

 

~~Kate~~

~~Lady Kat~~

~~Herald~~

Trevelyan -

~~I know you just returned~~

~~While not an official soldier~~

We have a situation. It seems your friend, Ser Lysette, and her regiment were taken by hostiles. To add to the complication, their captor demands that ~~we~~ you and I must both be present to rescue them. I am including a copy of the avvar’s letter for your review. As you will see, it ~~is nonsense~~ bears dealing with. At this early venture, we cannot risk our people falling into enemy hands. It makes us appear weak, and it hardly recommends us to potential recruits. Also, our people are counting on ~~me~~ ~~you~~ us.

Leliana and I have formulated a plan for rescue. Time is of the essence. ~~Meet me~~ ~~Please join me~~ I will be at the Crossroads in the Hinterlands. When you arrive, we will set out at once. Likely gone a week.

~~C~~

~~Commander Cul~~

– Cullen

* * *

“More bad news, Duchess?”

Kate glanced up from Cullen’s letter to find Varric looking at her warily. Varric sat on a crate, as did all the rest of Kate’s companions. Solas was staring out across the water. Cassandra was watching Kate closely with an unreadable expression. Their new companion, Sera, had acquired an entire armful of meat pies. How the young elf had managed that in so short a time, Kate did not know, but Sera was sharing her bounty with an eager and appreciative Morris. While the two stuffed their faces, Enchanter Vivienne lounged atop her two trunks of luggage, managing to look impossibly regal and unaffected by the wild weather around her. As it was, the Waking Sea churned beyond the docks. Kate’s short hair was whipped by the wind, and she blinked against the spray that splashed into her eyes.

“Must be bad news,” Sera said, around a mouthful of pie. “Look at that puckered face she’s got on.”

“Did you get mustard?” Morris asked Sera.

“Pfft,” the elf snorted. “‘Course. What, you think I’d forget something like that?”

“What are our instructions?” Cassandra wanted to know.

“Looks like a lot to do, from all that paper in your hand,” Varric added. “And here I was hoping for a nap.”

“Such wild daydreams you have, Master Tethras,” Solas said, amused.

Kate looked at the last message once again, holding tightly to the paper as the wind threatened to rip it from her hands. This note from Cullen troubled her - troubled her in far more ways than the most obvious one - but she refused to let that show. In the past week, Kate had realized something rather alarming: these people trusted her. For whatever reason, they expected Kate to lead them.

They had expected her to speak with the sailors and, since she had the money purse, they had expected Kate to pay for the ship’s fees. Then Cassandra gave Kate the map and expected Kate to navigate the streets of Val Royeaux. Obviously, everyone had expected Kate to speak to the clerics and the templars, though _that_ had been a complete mess. Then, as they had all stood around, staring at the now-empty city square, Morris had said he was hungry and everyone looked to Kate to decide where they ought to have lunch. Since that time, Kate had taken the lead on everything - from chasing after the elusive Red Jenny (who turned out to be Sera), to meeting with Enchanter Vivienne, to helping everyone get settled in their rooms at the various inns along the way.

It was like she was playing tour guide, Kate mused. The only difference was that she and her fellow travelers got attacked at random intervals along the journey. And after a week of this, everyone was looking to Kate for their instructions. It was a very foreign feeling, but Kate wasn’t about to let them down.

“So?” Varric prompted Kate. “What’s next?”

“Well,” Kate said, shuffling through the letters again. “It seems Coll is taking the long way home, so we don’t need to wait for her.”

At least Coll was having some fun, Kate mused, looking over her friend’s wild scrawl. Even though most of this note was of a complaining tone, Kate could tell Coll was loving every minute of it.

“We need to speak to a Grey Warden,” Kate added, holding up a note from Leliana. “He’s somewhere in the Hinterlands.”

“Ought to be easy to find him,” Varric mused. “Didn’t we run into darkspawn up by that old dwarven thaig? I’d start looking there.”

“And let us not forget that we must speak with Fiona and her Redcliff mages” Solas put in.

“Must we?” Vivienne asked, dryly.

Kate ignored her remark. Enchanter Vivienne’s disdain for the rebel mages had been evident to Kate from the first. But, at the same time, Kate wasn’t about to turn down help from an experienced Circle mage. Kate didn’t feel she was in a position to turn down help from anyone. Furthermore, Vivienne’s snobbery didn’t bother Kate in the slightest. In a way, it was oddly comforting - or at least, entirely familiar. At least Kate knew what to expect from people like Madame de Fer - as opposed to the greatly unexpected and always inappropriate Sera. As Kate had mentioned to Varric, “Madam Vivienne reminds me of my Great-Aunt Lucy. Only she’s better dressed and can kill people with a thought, “To which Varric had replied, “And this _recommends_ her, Duchess?”

Kate scanned the other notes - simple status reports and a few requisition requests for the nearby area. Then she looked up at everyone with a grim smile.

“And,” she said, with false cheer, “it looks like a group of our soldiers got kidnapped.”

“What, again?” said Varric. “Don’t tell me its Keran this time. That kid ought to get a tab on bailouts.”

“No,” Kate said, wanting to smile at the joke, but not quite able to. “This time it’s Ser Lysette.”

“Another templar? Geez. You’d think they’d give up the heavy armor, since it makes them such easy targets.”

“One would think,” Kate agreed.

“She is your friend, is she not?” Cassandra asked.

“Uh…” Kate hedged. “She’s a templar from Ostwick who saved my life.”

“So yeah, a friend,” Varric said.

“I guess so,” Kate mused.

Huh, she thought, distantly. She had a templar for a friend. How strange was that?

“Anyhow,” Kate went on, “it looks like Lysette’s troop got taken by avvar —“

“What-var?” Sera wanted to know.

“Barbarians,” Cassandra filled in, while Solas clarified, “A human mountain tribe.”

“Right,” Sera nodded. “More human problems.”

“And let me guess,” Varric said. “You need volunteers. Alright then. Anyone else up for a rescue mission in a swamp filled with the undead?”

Everyone fell suspiciously silent. Somewhere nearby, a frog started to croak loudly. Morris looked around, eyes wide, then raised his hand.

“You’ll go?” Varric asked him.

“Go where?” Morris said. "I have to report back to Haven."

“Ugh, you’re all daft, you are,” Sera said. She shoved the last of her pie into her mouth and picked up another pie from the heap in her lap. “Bauf-fing amba wamp ouf fummich.”

“What?” Kate asked her.

Sera chewed and swallowed. “Dead things and swamps are rubbish,” she announced. “You lose arrows in a swamp. And undead? Can’t hit a proper body part on that. Whole point is to stick a baddie with a pointy thing. But undead just keep going. Archer’s nightmare, right?”

“She is right,” Varric said, grimacing. “Both the dry and rattling kind of undead and the boggy, squelchy kind of undead are a pain in the ass. Arrows work better on things with…innards.”

“I know, right?” Sera agreed. “Send the shield.” She hiked a thumb at Cassandra, whose lips thinned. “Let her give ‘em a good bash”.

“I will come with you, of course,” the Seeker said.

“Thank you, Cassandra,” Kate said.

Inwardly, Kate breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want to admit it to the others - and she hardly wanted to admit it to herself - but the thought of spending a week with Cullen made her very uncomfortable. If Cassandra was with her, Kate felt she ought to be able to avoid the former knight-captain.

“I will go with you as well, my dear,” Vivienne put in.

“Oh,” Kate said, blinking. She took in Vivienne’s gorgeous white-and-silver gown, the woman’s high boots and fancy headdress, and forced herself to simply nod. “That’s…great.”

“Gonna get yourself all muddy, are you Viv?” Sera teased. “Bog-slime’ll be a good look for you.”

Vivienne regarded the elf with a sneer. “I can handle anything, darling. Besides,” she added, flicking a speck of dirt off of her dress, “there are spells for keeping oneself clean. You might consider trying it sometime.”

Sera stuck her tongue out at Vivienne, and Kate groaned inwardly. This was what she got for recruiting such different sorts of people to the Inquisition. She only hoped they all managed to remain civil until the breach was closed.

“Alright,” Kate said. “Cassandra and Vivienne will go with me. Morris, we'll drop you off at the Crossroads...”

“And what of the Redcliff mages, Herald?” Solas interrupted, mildly.

Kate had anticipated this question. She also found it a trifle frustrating. She couldn’t very well be in two places at once. But then, Kate supposed the templars were out of the picture now, so the mages could wait a week. She hoped so, anyhow.

“We’ll have to send someone to explain the situation to them,” Kate said. “Care to act as mage-ambassador?”

“ _Him_?” Vivienne said, frowning.

“Unless you’d like to do it,” Kate said to her.

“Grovel to Fiona?” Vivienne sneered. “Not a chance.”

“I would hardly call it ‘groveling’,” Kate said, frowning.

“Fiona asked for you by name, Herald” Solas reminded Kate.

“And I hope she can understand our predicament. We can’t leave our people to die in the mire. They wouldn’t want to ally with us if we would, right?”

As soon as she said this, it struck Kate that Cullen had written almost the exact same thing in his letter. At first, Kate had been angry at Cullen for being so heartless, but now, she found herself appreciating his practicality. Shaking that thought off, Kate pressed on.

“Solas, if you could speak to the mages and let them know what’s going on…”

“Oh, and I’m _sure_ they’ll listen to him,” Vivienne said sarcastically, glancing at her fingernails. “Because every Circle mage has been taught to trust apostates implicitly.”

“Then their ignorance is on their own heads,” Solas replied.

Vivienne shot him a dirty look.

“And people wonder why no one likes mages,” Sera said, around a mouthful of pie. “Get a room, you two.”

“Wait,” Morris said, his eyes wide. “The bald elf and the horned lady are _mages_?”

“Ugh,” Cassandra said, rolling her eyes.

“Solas,” Kate said, trying to get everyone back on track. “Can you speak to Fiona for me?”

“I will endeavor to do so, Herald,” Solas told her.

“Thank you,” Kate said. “As for the Warden…”

“I’ll take that on,” Varric said, holding up a hand. “Talked with enough Wardens in my time. I think I can handle it.”

“And Sera?” Kate asked, “Where will you go?”

“Uh, to get a pint?” the elf suggested. “To prank the grand enchant-whatever!” When Cassandra snorted angrily, Sera raised her hands and said, “Fine! Fine. I’ll go with the dwarf here.”

“Good,” Kate said, glad that she now had everyone settled. “Right then. We sail out tonight.”

“What, to _night_?” Sera whined. “But we’ve been traveling since we started traveling.”

“There are people in a mire, Sera,” Kate said. “They’re in trouble and they’re far less comfortable than we are.”

“Right then,” Sera groaned. “Right. Back onto the boat we go.”

“Thank you,” Kate said. “I’ll go speak with the sailors and see if they can set out at once.”

Kate left her companions behind, headed for the rain-logged hut where the dockmaster was set up. And as she walked away, Kate allowed herself to look down at the letters once more. She shuffled to the one written in a bold, thick scrawl - read Cullen’s signature - and then shoved the wad of them into her pocket.

She had planned to take charge a bit more, Kate thought. And for the most part, she had done so. She hadn’t recruited the templars, true, but they had been set on leaving. Nothing short of a wall and an army could have stopped them. But Kate had managed everything else reasonably well. She felt proud of herself for that.

And then, Kate thought, then a letter arrived from the Inquisition’s commander and her stomach started doing flips in a very uncontrolled way. Obviously, she was worried about Lysette. Obviously, Kate was worried about fighting undead - that sounded perfectly dreadful. But more than that. Kate realized that her plan to avoid Cullen was in danger of failing. If she spent a week with him in the mire, she’d have to talk to him sooner or later.

But, Kate decided, she didn’t need to talk to Cullen about anything beyond the mission. They had a rescue to undertake, after all. Surely Kirkwall would not come up in casual conversation. So there really was nothing to fear here. Well, Kate amended - nothing to fear but the undead. But that wasn’t as frightening a subject as templars.


	24. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate and Cullen enter the mire

When she lived in the Ostwick Circle, Kate had studied maps with great interest. She would pore over the pictures in books, memorizing the lay of the lands she would never get to see. From her desk, she had traveled the world - or at least sketches of the world. She had thought herself quite knowledgeable on the subject of geography.

But now, Kate could see that Thedas was so much bigger and wilder than she could ever have imagined. It wasn’t just the breadth of the place - it was the depth of each location. Each corner of forest and field had its own small haunts and hollows. The world was so much more folded in on itself, so much messier than she had thought. Cities were not at all like inked dots on a map. They did not jump up startlingly from the blank vellum of the countryside, but crept up in around a person. They began as stepping stones of outlying houses that became boulders of buildings and then gave way to walls of shops and taverns and inns. And forests didn’t crop up as suddenly as the green wash of watercolor would suggest, nor were drawn mountains the only rise in elevation and all else was the same flat plain. Some landscapes flowed into others so gradually that one scarcely noticed the change over a full day’s travel. And yet others were as dramatic as a sword slice in the scenery: like the clear-cut tree line of the alpine heights or the sudden fall of a rocky cliff into the sea.

And then, Kate thought, there were some changes that came on both slowly and all at once. The approach to the Fallow Mire was such a one.

The hike had begun rather pleasantly. She and Cassandra and Vivienne, joined by Cullen and a handful of scouts Kate did not know, had set out from the Hinterlands to the southeast. They’d climbed through a narrow pass and then continued on through a rocky, wooded plain. The sun had been shining, the birds singing, and Kate had studiously avoided Cullen and spent the day talking with Cassandra and Vivienne.

Cassandra was in a far better mood now that they were away from Val Royeaux, Kate found. It seemed that the encounter with the Lord Seeker had upset her a great deal, and no, Cassandra had not wanted to talk about it. Instead, Kate had asked the Seeker about her time serving the Divine, and been treated to a very entertaining tale about when Cassandra defeated a high dragon.

Then Kate had spent the rest of the day talking with Vivienne. Or rather, she’d listened politely as Vivienne went on about tailors and shops and places Kate had never been. It was entertaining at least. And that evening, Kate had been so exhausted, she’d dropped right off to sleep.

Today’s hike had been far less pleasant. Cullen had said that the mire was no place for horses, and by mid-morning, his assertion proved true. The ground grew ever more boggy and muddy, the air thicker and more sodden, and Kate’s mood soured as the clouds scuttled in over the sky and cloaked them all in a thick blanket of fog. They walked for what seemed like forever in that haze, and Kate began to realize that in spite of the past night of sleep, she was still quite tired. She’d scarcely slept at all during the week in Val Royeaux, and now was running on the last reserves of her energy.

Upon arriving in the Fallow Mire, Kate found herself completely exhausted. And while the weather had slipped in around them as if on cat’s feet, the bog itself began quite abruptly. Beyond the village known as Fisher’s End, the path suddenly ducked down under a line of murky water, and beyond that was nothing but tufts of grass and mist. Kate found the place very creepy.

She had readied herself for sleep - helping Cassandra pitch the tent. When Vivienne handed her some cold rations for dinner, Kate smiled thinly. And all the while, Kate had done her best to ignore the way Cullen stalked about here and there, scarcely eating his food, checking in with every scout and looking over every report twice. Kate was, begrudgingly, impressed by his ability to take charge of the situation. Then Cullen had gone out to check on the village, and Kate and the others had headed for their tent.

Kate hadn’t gotten very far, however. A moment later, a scout arrived, informing Kate that Cullen ‘needed a moment of her time’. Vivienne and Cassandra had waved her on, already headed for their own sleeping rolls. Kate felt quite envious of them both, but she dutifully clambered back out of the tent and headed for the bog. She sincerely hoped that whatever it was Cullen wanted to talk about would not take long. She had no energy for decision-making at this point - and in such foul weather, too.

Kate’s boots squelched with each step as she walked along the muddy path to the end of the road. She rubbed her arms, trying desperately to keep out the chill. The air couldn’t decide if it wanted to be fog or a light drizzle, and somehow, it had contrived to be both. Everything around had a wet sheen to it, from the abandoned houses to the overlong grass. It was a very dreary place, Kate thought. She kept imagining that shadows were creeping along behind her through the trees. When she reached out with her magic, the Veil felt thin and frayed - a mere whisper of magic against the pressing music of the Fade. The sooner they got out of here, the better.

Kate spotted Cullen at the end of the path. He stood under a street lantern, dimly lit in the dark fog of the mire. His face remained hidden in the darkness, his fur mantle making him appear like a hunch-backed bear. Kate paused a moment, reminded of… everything. She recalled Varric’s tales, she recalled the awkward conversation she’d had with Cullen before leaving for Val Royeaux, and she recalled how he’d often glanced over at her during their hike here. But as she was tired and simply wanted to get back to bed, Kate brushed the shards in her mind aside. Instead, she cleared her throat and said:

“You asked to see me, commander?”

Cullen turned at once, the light falling over his face and illuminating a slight smile.

“Trevelyan,” he said, taking a step toward her. He sounded tired. Be he also sounded pleased to see her. “And here I thought you’d fallen asleep and not gotten the message.”

“No,” Kate told him. “I want to sleep,” she added, “But no.”

“I’d like to sleep, too,” Cullen said, giving her one of his conspiratorial half-smiles. “But before a mission, I find my nerves are always on edge.”

Kate had nothing to say to that, so she just gave him a smile. She imagined it came off as extremely forced and awkward.

“I’d appreciate a second pair of eyes on this,” Cullen said, waving her over. “I’m trying to make some sense of it.”

Kate approached him cautiously, then looked down at the soggy piece of vellum he held in his hands.

“What’s this?” she asked, trying not to stand too close. Tall as she was, Kate wasn’t used to feeling small in comparison with other people. Next to Cullen and his hulking armor, she did.

“Well, that’s the problem,” Cullen told her, waving a hand at it. “This is the only map we’ve got of this area.”

“That’s a map?” Kate asked. Her curiosity got the better of her and she reached for it. Cullen immediately handed it over.

“I suppose…” she looked over her shoulder and squinted into the fog, but could not see very far.

“This is where we approached the camp,” Kate said, pointing at the map. “That’s the narrows through the cliffs.”

“That’s what I thought as well,” Cullen agreed. He stood near to her now and looked over her shoulder. Kate immediately recoiled from him, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he held his hand out and Kate handed the map back at once.

“The trouble is,” Cullen said, evidently not noticing her skittishness, “That’s all I recognize. The keep Lieutenant Lysette spoke of is nowhere on the map.”

“Lieutenant Lysette?” Kate repeated. “I didn’t realize she’d been promoted.”

“Just before this mission,” Cullen replied, absently. “See, it looks like the marsh crept in over the centuries. I recognize this road here and little else.”

“The road seems to follow this ridge along the map,” Kate said, reaching over and pointing at it before drawing her hand back away. “It stands to reason that any higher ground on the map is still above water.”

“Which means higher ground is where we’ll find the keep,” Cullen agreed. “We know it should be above water, at least.”

“What about this plateau here?” Kate asked, pointing at a wide space on the map.

“I thought that as well,” Cullen agreed. “The scouts didn’t get a chance to explore it, as there’s only one narrow approach and it was guarded by avvar.”

“A good sign,” Kate agreed. “Or…well, not really.”

“A bad good sign,” Cullen chuckled. “Yes, exactly so. The scouts spotted spires there which may or may not be natural rock. I’m guessing that there’s a keep in here somewhere, and we can’t see it through this fog.”

“Makes sense,” Kate said. She watched as Cullen folded up the map and tucked the damp vellum into his pocket. When he looked down at her, she suddenly felt a bit self-conscious all over again.

“So,” she said. “If that’s all you needed, I guess I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Oh,” Cullen said, looking a bit taken aback. “Ah, no. Actually, it wasn’t. I need to talk to you about something else, as well.”

“Alright,” Kate said, wearily. “Shall we head back to camp then?”

“Er, no,” he said. “I want to talk to you privately. Away from the others.”

And just like that, Kate was instantly on her guard.

“Why?” she asked.

“Well,” Cullen said, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s just that certain discussions don’t need to be carried out in front of the soldiers, you understand.”

“What kind of discussion are we talking about?” Kate wanted to know.

“The discussion of how you plan to approach the templars after all this,” Cullen said.

Kate’s guard solidified into a full-body shield.

“I _tried_ to recruit them,” she said, drawing back from him. Even to her own ears, she sounded childishly petulant. “But they just ignored me and went marching off.”

“All the more reason we need to go after them while we still can,” Cullen said. “Whatever the Lord Seeker has planned, it can’t be any good. We must persuade the templars to see reason.”

“Why?” Kate returned. “They didn’t see reason before.”

“But we must try,” Cullen persisted.

“The templars made their bed,” Kate told him, frowning. “Surely they can lie in it - armor and everything.”

“So you mean to speak to the mages?” Cullen asked.

“I already have spoken to the mages,” Kate replied. “Well, one mage. Fiona wants to join us.”

“Now she does,” Cullen snorted. “Yet, I doubt she made her offer out of any real desire to help us.”

“And you think the templars want to help us?” Kate asked, frowning. “I watched them, Cullen. They’re completely without conscience. A few of them looked worried about the fact that a templar punched a grand cleric _in the face_. But then, the moment the Lord Seeker said ‘march,’ off they went. And those are the kind of people you’d want as allies?”

“You’d rather have the mage rebellion join us? Do you realize the complications that would bring with it?”

“Believe it or not, I am capable of anticipating some of the issues there.”

“Such as potential possessions?” Cullen said, folding his arms over his chest. “Blood mages hiding among the other mages? The fact that a good number of those mages are children or elderly or can’t even do combat magic? We wouldn’t be recruiting an army, so much as taking on a horde of refugees of the most dangerous kind.”

“They aren’t _that_ helpless,” Kate insisted, though she hoped, rather than knew that to be true. “And besides, we don’t have much of a choice, do we? The templars left.”

“But we could pursue them.”

“Why are you so set on having those templars join us?” Kate snapped. “Why does it have to be them? Are you really so disgusted by mages that you can’t possibly work with them?”

“It has nothing to do with that,” Cullen said, drawing back. “I…yes, there was a time when I distrusted mages - misjudged them. But that was in the past. I will endeavor not to do that here.”

“No,” Kate said, rolling her eyes, “You’ll just avoid dealing with them.”

“I am not avoiding them,” Cullen replied, irritably. “It seems to me that _you’re_ the one who’s avoiding things. You’re so prejudiced against the templars that you won’t even consider going after them.”

“You think me prejudiced against templars?” Kate gaped at him.

“Aren’t you?” Cullen returned. His eyes seemed to search her face. And when Kate opened her mouth to speak, she found she couldn’t deny it. So instead, she left jaw hanging open, gaping at him like a fish.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said, glancing down, and then back up again, as if suddenly uncertain of himself. “I ought to have realized before. Well, I did wonder. And I tried to ask you…” He glanced at her warily, his expression growing ever more troubled by the moment.

“What?” Kate asked.

“It’s not my place to pry,” Cullen said. “And yet, I feel I must ask - must say rather…” He gave her a sidelong glance, then said: “The templars didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“Hurt me?” Kate repeated. “No. They just marched out of the White Spire and…”

“No,” Cullen said, now looking extremely uncomfortable. “At Ostwick. Before all this. You weren’t… That is to say, I hope no one…”

Kate stared at him blankly. He couldn’t possibly be asking this, could he? And yet, it seemed that he was. He looked quite uncomfortable now.

“I tried to ask you,” he said, still speaking to the toes of his boots. “Before you left for Val Royeaux, that is. But I didn’t want to pry.”

Kate now felt like the shards in her mind - all those fragmented stories and rumors and opinions and observations about Cullen - had suddenly stood up and started dancing about.

How could he, she wondered? How _dare_ he? How could the former knight-captain of Kirkwall ask her this, as though he actually cared about a mage being hurt by templars. Was he serious? Or was this simply an act - a cleverly planned moment of sympathy meant to bring her guard down?

At that thought, Kate felt something inside of her of snap - one of her few remaining threads of patience, perhaps. She was so damn _tired_ of this. Tired of travel, tired of things going wrong, and most of all, Kate was tired of uncertainty. Everyone else in the Inquisition seemed to trust one another - and they all trusted Kate. But Kate didn’t entirely trust the Inquisition, she didn’t entirely trust Cullen. Right now, she didn’t even trust herself. For Kate felt a part of her melt at the thought that Cullen would be worried for her safety. And the other part of her wanted to throw ice in his face and rail at him for his hypocrisy.

Instead of doing either of those things, however, Kate grabbed hold of the fraying threads of her patience and clutched them tight.

“What are you talking about?” she asked him, very precisely. She may have said this through gritted teeth.

“I…nothing,” Cullen said, drawing back at her anger. “I didn’t meant to bring up bad memories. Your past is your own, of course. I just wanted to assure you that you’re safe here.”

“Safe here,” Kate repeated.

“Well, not _here_ ,” Cullen said, grimacing out into the fog. “This mire is hazardous to anyone’s health, and I’m not just talking about the smell. But I meant with the Inquisition. We protect our own. No one will harm you so long as you’re with us, Trevelyan. You can be sure of that.”

He looked at her with such utter sincerity that Kate wanted to believe him. And yet, there was another way to take that promise: It could be seen as a veiled threat.

“So,” Kate said, slowly, “as long as I do what the Inquisition wants, I will be shielded.”

“I didn’t mean it as an exchange,” Cullen said irritably. “I’m not trading our protection for your cooperation. It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” Kate asked, testily. “You need the mark, and that’s why I’m still alive. I think I know the score here.”

“Not at all,” Cullen returned. “Whatever you were, you’re part of the Inquisition now.”

And there was another thread gone.

“Oh, right,” Kate asked, sarcastically. “Join the Inquisition, have one’s past wiped clean. Is that what they’re putting on the recruitment posters now?”

“You were the one who said we had to put aside the past,” Cullen told her, frowning now. “That was in your speech, if you recall.”

Kate did recall. But that was before she knew the past Cullen was hiding. Another thread went sliding out into the fog.

“Putting aside the past is not the same thing as ignoring it,” Kate said.

“Putting aside, ignoring,” Cullen said, waving both words aside. “Look, the past is done. We need to move forward. We must plan for allies, and the templars are our best option.”

And suddenly, the last thread of patience slipped out of Kate’s grasp.

“They are _not_ the best option!” Kate snapped. “The mages would serve just as well. But you won’t consider that, will you? No, of course not! Maker forbid that the knight-captain of Kirkwall should stoop to asking for help from _mages_.”

At that, Cullen drew back in surprise.

“That’s right, Cullen,” she said, irritably. “I know where you served as a templar.”

“I served in Kirkwall,” he said, slowly. “Didn’t I tell you that?”

“ _No,_ ” Kate scowled. “You didn’t tell me that at all. Nor that you were the knight-captain there.”

“I must have done,” Cullen said, frowning. “But surely you know the story.”

“Oh, I know the story,” Kate said, with a bitter laugh. “I just didn’t realize it was _your_ story until Varric said so.”

“Varric?” Cullen repeated, his guarded expression flashing with fire for a moment. “Blast him and his stupid book. Is that why you’re angry about all this? Because of something Varric said?”

“No,” Kate insisted. “It has nothing to do with what he said. Varric spoke very highly of you. He kept going on about your moment of glory - saving Hawke, saving the mages. He seems to think you’re some dramatic hero, all set to be the villain, but then you became the savior.”

Cullen glanced at her sideways at that. “I’m not sure he did me a favor then. It seems that whatever he said, you don’t agree with him.”

“I’m not sure what to think,” Kate replied. “I heard rumors enough about Kirkwall to give me nightmares. Quite literally, I had nightmares over them. So imagine my shock when I discovered that my bear-soldier was the one doing those things.”

“Your what?” Cullen asked, looking utterly confused.

“I…Nothing. Never mind. What I mean is that it was _you_. You were the knight-captain all along.”

“I was _a_ knight-captain,” Cullen said. “One of many. And why are you so angry about this?”

“Seriously?” Kate gaped at him. “Do you _honestly_ not know what they’ve said about Kirkwall? Do you honestly not know what happened there?”

Cullen opened his mouth to speak, but Kate cut him off.

“They said mages were beaten,” Kate told him, the words tumbling out. “They said that mages were raped. Branded tranquil when they’d already passed their Harrowings. Killed without provocation, even. And the templars did that. Your precious templars!”

Cullen shut his mouth and looked away sharply. Kate felt her temper rise even higher.

“And _these_ are the people you want me to recruit? These are the men and women that you would welcome into the Inquisition with open arms?”

“They’re not all like that,” Cullen shot back, over his shoulder.

“Not all like…” Kate broke off with a low growl of frustration.

“Never mind!” she snapped. “I don’t have time for this. Or for you.”

“Trevelyan, stop,” Cullen said, stepping forward to block her retreat.

“Don’t touch me!” she snapped, drawing back and stepping into a puddle.

“I’m not…” he glowered at her, then let out a huff of frustration. “For the Maker’s sake, calm down. Your hair is turning white from all that frost.”

“Calm _down_?” Kate snapped, feeling ice form on the tips of her fingers.

“The templars aren’t all…”

“I don’t care about what the templars did,” Kate shot back, feeling the ground around her boots grow cold as it started to freeze. “I care about what _you_ did.”

“Me?”

“Yes you, Cullen. I don’t doubt that some templars are decent people. Just like I don’t doubt that some are monsters who prey on the weak. But which kind are _you_?”

Cullen seemed completely taken aback by this question. “You… You honestly think that I…?”

“Raped mages? Beat them?” Kate suggested, waving a hand. “I don’t know. Did you?”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen said, his brows furrowing as he stared at her.

In the back of her mind, Kate could not believe that she was going on like this. The old, timid Kate who had lived her whole life in the Circle tower would never speak so to a templar. The old, timid Kate would never dare be alone with a templar in the first place. Yet the past weeks of uncertainty and battles and erratic sleep had worn away the old Kate’s reserve - and her polish. For now Kate found herself poking at the bear-templar, as if with a stick.

“Did you, Cullen?” Kate pressed. “You were a knight-captain, so you must have done _something_. To mages like me…”

“No!” Cullen cried, his expression one of horror. He almost looked like he was about to reach for her shoulder, but then his hands paused just in front of Kate.

“No,” he said, holding his hands out as a guard. “As Andraste is my witness, I never did those things. I swear I didn’t.”

Kate watched him as he swallowed and held her eyes. She never wanted to trust a person’s word so much in her life. And yet…

“But you must have known about it,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper.

“I must have, mustn’t I?” Cullen repeated, looking at her with an unreadable expression.

“Didn’t you?” Kate prompted.

Cullen glanced away and ran a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Trevelyan. Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do _what_?” Kate asked, her anger returning once again.

“I’m fixing what I can,” Cullen said fiercely, turning to stare out into the mire. “I’m looking forward to the future. My past is nothing I want to dwell on. Can’t you understand that?”

A strange expression flashed over Cullen’s face. It was like pain and sorrow and fury all at once. It made Kate forget her frosty anger, if only for a moment. She felt the ice on her fingers fade, aided in its melting by the drizzling rain.

And yet, she forced herself to take a step back from him. She couldn’t soften toward a man who had allowed these things to happen, Kate told herself. She couldn’t feel tender toward the knight-captain of Kirkwall.

“What happened in Kirkwall?” Kate asked, very precisely.

“You don’t want to hear about it,” Cullen said. His voice was very strained, as if it were coming from a long way off.

“I assure you, I do.”

“No,” Cullen turned her, his expression so haunted, Kate drew back from him. “You don’t. Because when _I_ found out, I didn’t sleep for weeks. I still feel sick to think of it. The things that went on…”

He shook his head hard, then looked Kate square in the eye.

“I didn’t take advantage of the mages,” he said. “I swear that I didn’t. I avoid touching… That is to say, I didn’t lay a hand on any of them.” He shook his head again and stared out into the mire.

“But you stood by as the other templars did those things,” Kate said.

“It wasn’t like I looked on and nodded with approval,” Cullen snarled, his expression darkening. “The things that happened in the Gallows happened behind closed doors. I didn’t know about most of them until it was too late.”

“And you expect me to believe that?” Kate said, wondering again if this was true or if he was simply the most devious liar she’d ever met. “You were a knight-captain, Cullen, not some raw recruit. How could you not know?”

“Because I wasn’t allowed to know,” Cullen shot back, temper flashing in his eyes. “You don’t understand what it was like. You couldn’t possibly.”

“You’re right,” Kate agreed. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand how a knight-captain could have _no idea_ that mages were being beaten and raped just a few doors down from his offices.”

Cullen made a choking noise, then winced and looked at the ground.

“I didn’t know about the worst of the abuses. I swear I didn’t,” he went on, when Kate looked at him doubtfully. “Until Hawke brought proof that Knight-Captain Alrick had been doing such things, I had no idea.”

“You had no idea,” Kate repeated.

“And why would I?” Cullen asked her. “He was tasked with the branding ceremonies and tracking down escaped apostates. He was thirty years my senior and no, I never thought to question him. Hawke brought in his papers, and frankly, I first thought I’d be forced to arrest her for the man’s murder. But then I realized she’d done everyone a service.”

“A service?” Kate asked, her voice raw. “Certainly, the man was dead, but what about all the people he’d harmed? What happened to them?”

Now, Cullen didn’t look quite so confident.

“I’m not sure,” Cullen said.

“You don’t know?”

“When I took control of the Gallows, I tried to discover which mages had been wounded most. I thought… I don’t know. To help them? As if one could help take away such a thing. But they were all…” Here he broke off and looked away with a wince.

“Were dead?” Kate asked, softly.

“Most were,” Cullen said, quietly. “The tranquil took the brunt of the abuse. In the battle at the Gallows, most were cut down. They didn’t defend themselves at all. And most mages fled. I didn’t bother to send the templars after them. I had too few people to spare and I figured - well. There were a few mages who stayed on after all that. They didn’t want to speak of what happened. Not to me. I asked some Chantry sisters to come and counsel them, but…”

Cullen shook his head. “There wasn’t much I could do, really. Meredith razed that place to the ground. I tried to clean up her mess, but how could I? She’d never done anything but amass power and ignore the real problems. When I finally went through her files, I found Ser Alrick’s papers in her desk. I’d given them to her, and she had said she’d look into it. She hadn’t, of course. And yet, I had trusted that she would. I trusted her in everything.”

“Why?” Kate asked, completely baffled.

“Because she was my superior officer,” Cullen said, as if this should be obvious. “Because that’s what templars are trained to do. We follow orders. We respect the chain of command. And when attacked, we close ranks around one another and protect our own. You may dislike it, Trevelyan, but that’s how the Order is run. That’s how it’s always been run.”

“That’s how tyrannies are run,” Kate muttered.

“That’s how armies are run,” Cullen said, his voice low and intense. “The troops look to the general.”

“And hope she’s not crazy,” Kate added.

“Exactly,” Cullen said, his jaw tight. “But Meredith was clever, and she hid her growing madness well. Insanity does not destroy intelligence, you know. It just twists it. For years, Meredith effectively ruled all of Kirkwall. No one dared to question her. And in the Gallows, she reigned like a queen. She even called it her ‘Kingdom of Walls.’ She kept everyone off in their own separate quarter, doing their particular job with only her for oversight. She made me feel - made _us_ feel, rather - that each one of the officers had the most important role in all the Circle. It was her way of controlling things, of running everything to her way of thinking. And I never realized it at the time, how I was being flattered and managed.”

Cullen’s voice had turned thick with bitterness, and his throat worked a moment before he added: “None of us realized that until the end.”

“But,” Kate said, shaking her head, “you worked with her for…what? Three, four years?”

“Nine,” Cullen said, tersely.

“ _Nine_ years? And in nine years, you never once suspected that something might be wrong? That Meredith might not be the flawless commander you believed her to be?”

“Of course I suspected!” Cullen snapped. “I saw the bruised faces and I heard the whispers.”

“Then why…”

“Because,” Cullen said, wincing. “At first, I thought Meredith was right about the mages. I saw nothing but my own fear… My own suspicions, I mean. I thought a firm hand was needed.”

Kate felt her gut twist in disgust at the thought. “A firm hand?” she repeated, softly.

“Then I saw what I wanted to see,” Cullen went on, either ignoring her or not hearing her. “And when I finally began to recover - er, change my way of thinking, I took my new-found concerns to Meredith. She reassured me every time we met. She told me she was in control, that I was doing the right thing. And I believed her,” he snorted, then said, “Of course I believed her.”

He shook his head, then added: “You couldn’t understand. I spent so long following orders that I didn’t know what else to do. Once I began to question, I was in agony. I couldn’t speak to Meredith anymore, and I wasn’t sure whom I could trust among the templars. I wondered if I could trust anyone outside of the templars, but I was too afraid to reach out for help. I saw what happened to Ser Thrask when he’d done the same. And then… Well,” he shrugged one armored shoulder. “You know how it ended.”

Kate nodded solemnly. “I know what Varric wrote. I know what the scandal sheets published. But I want to hear it from you, Cullen.”

“Why?” he shot back. “So you can rub my face in it? So you can question if my reformation is sincere enough? Or will you simply find my work for the Inquisition lacking, because it was preceded by Kirkwall?”

“I’m just trying to understand you,” Kate insisted. “In one breath, you speak as though you support the Order, and yet, I can’t see why you would continue to do so. After everything Meredith did…”

“She did what she did and then I relieved her of command,” Cullen said, irritably. “That’s the only thing that’s relevant now. I tried to set things right. And _most_ people believe that what I did for Kirkwall at and after the Gallows counts for something.”

“It counts,” Kate said, defensively. “But I must confess, I find it a little hard to overlook the _nine_ years where you served as Meredith’s crony.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen said, turning from her in irritation.

“You stopped Meredith in the end,” Kate agreed, “But how many lives were lost before you did? And you can’t just take up a sword and mutiny against _that_.”

“No, you can’t,” Cullen said, tightly. “And don’t think I’m not aware of it. I regret that every single day.”

Pain flashed over his features, so real and raw that Kate began to feel sorry for him.

“I…fine,” she said, feeling caught between her annoyance at him and this growing sense of pity, “So you didn’t know about it. But I still don’t understand how Meredith managed to keep everyone in Kirkwall in the dark. How could one woman do that?”

Cullen snorted. “If you’d ever met her, you wouldn’t be asking that question. Meredith was canny and charismatic and careful. She knew how to tell people exactly what they wanted to hear, how to gather up power and keep hold of it. When I arrived at the Circle, she saw at once that I…”

Cullen broke off, then flashed Kate a very strange glance.

“She saw what?” Kate asked.

“Nothing,” Cullen said. “She just… She assigned me to train the recruits. And to guard the courtyard on alternating Thursdays.”

When Cullen flushed and looked away, there was something in his eyes that struck Kate as vaguely guilty.

“And since the recruits aren’t even allowed to speak to the mages,” Cullen went on, quickly, “I rarely interacted with the Circle mages.”

“Why were you kept from the mages?” Kate asked, frowning.

“What?” Cullen blanched.

“I meant you and the recruits,” Kate said. “Why were they kept from knowing any mages?”

“Ah,” Cullen said, looking relieved. “That’s a common practice. It’s supposed to make for better training. You can’t have a recruit’s judgment compromised by getting to know the charges personally.”

“Because Andraste forbid they see mages as people,” Kate said, folding her arms over her chest.

“It’s just how the Order does things,” Cullen shrugged. “It seemed ideal to me at the time.”

“Ideal?” Kate gaped at him.

“I meant that training the recruits suited me,” he said, quickly. “It meant I didn’t have to deal with… The point is, I was in an entirely separate section of the Gallows than all the other knight-captains. I almost never dealt with mages. Or with the older templars who, um…”

“Abused mages?” Kate suggested, her jaw tightening.

“Just so,” Cullen said, looking anywhere but at her face.

And now Kate grew angry once again. Clearly, he was withholding something. She was certain of it.

“But that’s not true,” Kate said, her eyes narrowing. “You interacted with mages all the time. Varric wrote about it in his book.”

“That damned book,” Cullen scowled. “Alright, yes, I spoke with Hawke from time to time. Once every two years, on average.” He winced, then muttered: “Far too often if you ask me. Woman was a menace.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Kate snapped. “You sedated mages. _You_ did. It was in the book. You even attacked a recruit.”

“I’m not lying,” Cullen said, looking thoroughly exasperated now. “I…yes. I attacked a recruit who turned out to _be possessed._ I ran the occasional errand for Meredith, which - once - involved sedating mages. They were blood mages who were due to be executed. I saved their lives by locking them up. But I suppose you’re willing to condemn me for that, too.”

“You want me to praise you for it instead?” Kate asked him, incredulously. “You want credit for _not_ killing mages?”

“They were blood mages,” Cullen told her. “Kidnappers.”

“They were desperate!” Kate returned. “You must have realized that. They were just people - civilians.”

“Mages are hardly ‘just people,’” Cullen said.

“That’s right,” Kate said, her voice cracking as her eyes filled with tears. Normally, she would have been embarrassed by this, but now she was past caring. “So good of you to remind me, Cullen. You don’t think mages are people, do you? That was in the book, too.”

“Ugh, that dwarf,” Cullen groaned.

“How can you deny it?” Kate asked him. “Would you ever have done such things to ordinary men and women?”

“Ordinary men and women can’t light things on fire with their minds or become abominations,” Cullen returned.

“And so you imprisoned them. You were just one more bar in the cage that held all those people captive.”

“Better that than let all of Thedas burn.”

“And you’re _still_ defending the Order? How can you? After everything Meredith did - after everything the templars did.”

“The Order exists for a reason,” Cullen said, angrily. “That reason won’t go away just because the Circles fell.”

“And that’s your answer?” Kate asked. “‘The mages deserved their abuse?’”

“Of course they didn’t deserve it. But you still don’t understand. I’d been trained since childhood not to question the Order. It was far easier to believe Meredith’s story - that the mages were trying to cause dissension in our ranks. What else should I have thought? That my fellow templars were - what? Going against the very laws of the Chantry? That they were sick, twisted maniacs? That Meredith was power-mad?”

“Yes!” Kate cried. “Yes, that’s exactly what you should have done.”

“And what about _you_?” Cullen said, nodding angrily at her. “You had no part in this war, I suppose. You never practiced blood magic? Never attacked a templar?”

“No, I haven’t,” Kate said, raising a brow at him.

“Really?” he asked, mimicking her pose.

“ _No_ ,” she insisted. “Blood magic is lazy and sloppy. You gain strength, but loose flexibility, as it were. But this isn’t about me, Cullen. This about _you_ , and how you’d much rather blame the mages and fear the eternal bogeyman of blood magic than see reason.”

“Reason?” Cullen repeated, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Of course. Mages like to scoff whenever templars speak of blood magic. They think we’re being paranoid. But few people understand what unchecked blood magic can do.” Cullen paused, then added darkly: “Most people are lucky enough never to know.”

“Well, I’m unlucky enough to know,” Kate told him. “Blood magic nearly destroyed the Ostwick Circle. An abomination killed my…my mentor,” Kate fought back the pang that she felt in remembering that moment. “Coll and Lysette and I nearly died trying to stop a few blood mages. So I am aware of the dangers. But that doesn’t mean I fear all magic - any more than I fear all swords just because a few people turn into bandits.”

“It’s hardly the same thing,” Cullen replied.

“Isn’t it?” Kate asked.

“I can put down my sword.”

“And I can sit on my hands,” Kate returned. “But because a skinny little girl like me can overpower a trained soldier like you, I’ve got to be locked up, isn’t that right? It’s power that you can’t account for. It’s power that doesn’t correspond to the size of my muscles. That’s why people fear it.”

“It’s…that’s not…” Cullen glanced at her chest, sizing up her muscles, no doubt. “You’re not _that_ skinny,” he muttered. “But that’s not the point.”

“No,” Kate agreed, “the point is that I trusted you. And now I’m not so sure.”

“You don’t trust me?” Cullen gaped at her. “ _You_ don’t trust me. A few weeks ago, you were a prisoner, Trevelyan. And we still don’t know what happened at the Conclave. And yet _you_ don’t trust _me_.”

“Are you saying that you don’t trust _me_?” Kate asked him, her voice rising.

“I did,” Cullen said. “Now I’m not so sure. What happened to our conversation by the docks? Back then, you said that we needed to work together. Back then, you had no problem with me being a templar. What changed?”

“What changed was that I found out you were from Kirkwall!” Kate shot back at him. Cullen drew back, blinking.

“So now what?” he said, his voice going hard as flint. “Because I’m from Kirkwall you won’t speak to me? You won’t rescue our soldiers? You’ll refuse to close rifts?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Kate said, lifting her chin. “I’ll still do what needs to be done. I’m the one with the mark, right?”

“So you’ll seek to replace me, then?” Cullen said, his tone growing nervous. “Now you think I’m not competent at my job. You think that my mind isn’t sound enough to lead the armies.”

“What?” Kate blinked, completely set off course by his words. “No. That’s not what I’m saying. I just want to be sure…”

“To be sure that I have strength enough to lead? That I have resolve enough to see this through?”

“No…”

“That I can command the loyalty of my soldiers? Because I assure you…”

“I want to know that you’re _safe_!” Kate shouted into his face.

Cullen drew back from her, clearly shocked by her outburst. Kate flushed to the roots of her hair, both from frustration and embarrassment. She hadn’t meant to say that. It had just slipped out all on its own. But now that the words hung in the air before her, she realized that it was the truth.

She wanted him to be safe. It was a stupid, stupid wish.

Cullen made a scoffing sound and stared at her for a moment. It seemed that he’d recovered himself quickly, even if Kate had not.

“You want to know if I’m safe?” he snorted. “This coming from the woman who can tear open the very Veil? Trevelyan, you might very well be the most dangerous person in all of Thedas.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she grumbled.

And it wasn’t. Kate hadn’t meant that she feared Cullen’s sword or even his anger. To her embarrassment, Kate realized that she had meant an entirely different sort of ‘safe.’ She meant safe enough to care for. And that was a stupid wish, Kate told herself at once. Maker’s breath, why had some soft, secret part of herself wanted _that_?

“So you don’t think I’m safe,” Cullen said, quietly. “And here I thought… Well. If I wanted to know your opinion of me, I suppose you’ve made it crystal clear.”

 _Not at all,_ Kate thought. Because how could Cullen know what Kate thought of him when Kate herself didn’t know?

“I just want to understand all this,” she said, striving for some rationality in spite of all the conflict rattling around in her head. “I…I mostly believe you…”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Cullen said, dryly.

“But it just doesn’t add up. You say you didn’t know, but you also say you had suspicions. So which is it? There’s either something you aren’t saying or something you’re deliberately trying to hide.”

“Look,” Cullen said firmly, clearly done with her questioning. “I worked in Kirkwall training the recruits, and that was all. I didn’t rape anyone. I didn’t beat anyone. I didn’t brand anyone tranquil…”

“You’re a paragon of virtue, Cullen.” Kate spoke sarcastically to hide her shock at his matter-of-fact tone.

“People make up their own minds about Kirkwall, as you have obviously done,” he said, ignoring her remark. “I don’t feel the need to correct them. The only people who matter have given me a second chance. Theirs are the only opinions I care about.”

“Meaning Cassandra and the Divine, I suppose,” Kate said, furious to be so easily dismissed by him. “But Maker forbid you explain yourself to a mage. Even now, I’m entirely beneath your consideration.”

“That’s not true,” he said, frowning.

“Of course it is,” Kate returned. “And what would you say, anyway? To have been blind to what happened in the Gallows, you must have been willfully ignorant or stupid beyond measure. So which is it?”

“Maker…”

“Both then,” Kate said, glaring at him.

Cullen drew back from Kate as if she’d slapped him. He looked at her with an expression that held one part hurt, and one part loathing. If Kate had been planning on taking back her harsh words, the explanation died in her throat.

“And there it is,” Cullen said, drawing himself up stiffly. “I’ve been judged and found wanting.”

“No,” Kate protested. “I just want to know…”

“I owe you no explanations, Trevelyan,” Cullen said, coolly cutting her off. “You are the Herald of Andraste, not Andraste herself. I need not confess myself to you.”

Kate stopped there, stung by the venom in his voice.

“Now,” Cullen said, more evenly. “If we’re done here, I think we both need rest before the morning. We have a mission to carry out, and people are counting on us.”

“Of course,” Kate began. “Of course the mission…”

But Cullen didn’t wait to hear her out. He turned and stalked away down the muddy path. Kate watched him go, while tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and clogged her throat.

Stupid tears, Kate thought, swallowing them down. She wasn’t sure if they were tears of anger at Cullen or regret for this pointless argument or sorrow for the poor mages of Kirkwall. Actually, Kate realized, it was probably all three of those things at once.

Kate squeezed her eyes shut, and the salt-water tears slipped down her face, mixing with the damp of fresh-water rain. All around her was the boggy, heavy marsh air, and right now, she felt like she was underwater.

What on earth had she just gotten herself into, Kate thought? Why couldn’t she just leave well enough alone? That argument hadn’t solved anything. It had just made things worse. She ought to have just kept her mouth shut, Kate thought. She should have known better than to talk with Cullen when she was so tired.

If only she could have made it one more day before she lost her composure. If only she were wiser or more patient, or had _any_ experience dealing with conflicts, she might have handled that better. But no, Kate thought, she was a Circle mage whose social experiences were all stifled and guarded, who had never once in her life had a fight like that. Her throat felt raw from shouting, her eyes still stung with the tears. But more than that, Kate shuddered to think of how Cullen might treat her in the morning. The very thought made her sick to her stomach. Considering how she’d angered him…

He wouldn’t hurt the Herald of Andraste, Kate assured herself. Cassandra wouldn’t let him. Vivienne wouldn’t let him. But even as she thought this, Kate realized that she didn’t really believe Cullen would punish her for her outburst.

In fact, that was why she’d allowed herself the outburst in the first place.

Maker’s breath, Kate thought, sucking in a breath. What had she done? Why had she gone after him like that? She hardly remembered, for the whole argument had grown dark and murky as the night around her. Kate didn’t even feel angry anymore. She just felt empty - empty and sad and so very, very tired.

She couldn’t fix this tonight, Kate told herself. She wasn’t sure if she could fix it at all. In fact, she wasn’t even sure what she was trying to repair.

Nevermind that, Kate thought. Tonight she could do nothing. Tonight, she needed sleep. In the morning, she would save those missing soldiers, and then - only then - would she worry about the rest of it. And though Kate’s gut still felt twisted and heavy, she wiped the tears from her eyes and headed back to camp.

* * *

_Void take it_ , Cullen thought, throwing himself back on his bed roll. Void take everything.

He felt like his insides had been scored with razor-sharp claws. That wasn’t just a metaphor, either. Cullen had a physical pain in his stomach, though he supposed that might have something to do with the questionable rations he’d had for dinner. Either way, he felt ill. It was no way to start a mission. He was annoyed with Trevelyan for that, too.

Void take it, Cullen thought again, pressing his fingers to his now-pounding temples. He did not need this. He had thought himself immune to criticism about Kirkwall by now. Thanks to Varric’s books and thanks to the rumors, it seemed everyone knew the tale of the Gallows. Cullen knew that he was seen as a mutineer as often as he was seen as a folk hero, and frankly, he didn’t much care for either characterization. He had done his best to ignore all the baseless speculation and focus on his job. On rare occasions, someone might ask him about his years as a knight-captain, and Cullen always said the same thing to everyone: he hadn’t known about the worst of the abuses. Meredith had kept things from him. And then, when Meredith had finally snapped, he’d relieved her of command and tried to set things right.

But that explanation glossed over a great deal, and it was extremely impersonal. Cullen knew that, but the truth was far more complicated than he could articulate. After taking command of the Gallows, Cullen had examined the situation from every angle. Quite literally, he had gone through every file that Meredith had left behind, had bashed in every locked door in the fortress. He had considered the Gallows from every angle - considered his own guilt from every angle. And when it came to his own fault, Cullen acknowledged it. He’d laid his failings before Andraste in his prayers and had begged for forgiveness.

The absolution of the Maker’s bride did not come easily, Cullen thought with a sigh. Between the memories of the Gallows and the memories of Kirkwall, he had plenty of ghosts to haunt him at nights. They crept into nightmares, voices screaming, voices calling out to him in helpless whispers.

Cullen turned away from those memories as if drawing his hand back from an open flame. The fact was, he had arrived in the Gallows as a broken, bent sort of man, and he’d left it only marginally better. But if the Gallows was a thorny tangle of misspent time, then Ferelden was its root. But he wasn’t about to speak of that to strangers, so he’d come up with a simpler way of explaining Kirkwall. The simpler explanation satisfied most people. It had satisfied Cassandra and the Divine. Though, now that Cullen thought of it, he often wondered if the Divine had seen through his evasions. She probably had known there was much more to his story than what Cullen had said.

But Trevelyan hadn’t been satisfied. She’d kept prodding and poking, determined to get all the way back to the heart of the matter. And she had wanted to know about Cullen - not the templars, not Meredith, but Cullen himself. That made it all so much worse. No one had ever looked at him and singled him out of the templars quite like that. He wasn’t sure how to deal with it, exactly. His failures and successes had always been made as part of a group. No one had ever asked him about…him. Not even Cassandra had been quite so particular. Cassandra had wanted to know about Meredith to be sure. She had wanted to hear about the Gallows, but that was all. And she certainly hadn’t called Cullen blind and stupid. _He_ called himself that, of course. He _had_ been blind and stupid. But it hurt to hear to Trevelyan say it.

That was alarming, really. To Cullen’s surprise, he realized that he had actually valued Trevelyan’s good opinion. It hurt to realize that he’d never had it. He didn’t know _why_ it hurt, exactly, for he didn’t even know when he’d come to desire her approval. He had only known her for a month, after all, spending less than a full day in her presence. And yet, somehow, he’d come to harbor a quiet regard for the woman. It wasn’t anything untoward, he told himself quickly. Rather, he thought of Trevelyan as he might regard any recruit who showed promise. Cullen had watched her progress from prisoner to Herald and tracked her missions with great interest. She had the makings of a leader in her, and he respected that. That was all.

Well, mostly all. He grudgingly admitted to a certain attraction on his part. He hesitated to call it ‘attraction,’ though, because that implied that it was some force he couldn’t resist. But he _had_ resisted that impulse, and he’d even thought they were becoming, if not friends, then colleagues, at least. But Kate thought him a monster, and he’d been oblivious to her revulsion. His lack of social perception shamed him as deeply as her harsh words.

Cullen rolled to his side, trying to get comfortable. The armor poked his ribs and compressed his back and yet he didn’t dare undress. Cullen wanted to be ready in case of a nighttime attack.

He just hadn’t any armor on against harsh judgment, Cullen thought, bitterly.

Right, Cullen thought. Enough of that. There was a mission coming in the morning and he was supposed to be focused on it. On top of everything else, Trevelyan had distracted him from his job and that made him all the angrier. He had thought Trevelyan was a sensible, practical sort of woman. She had seemed the type to focus on the future, not to dwell on the past.

Well, whatever _she_ might do, Cullen thought, he intended to press on. This argument had shaken him, but it didn’t change his purpose - or the current mission. He would find a way to rescue the scouts tomorrow, and if he had to work with Trevelyan to do it, then he would. The mission came first, after all. And once that was done, Cullen would keep himself far away from the woman until the breach was sealed. They only saw one another every few weeks, Cullen told himself. Avoiding the Herald shouldn’t be too difficult.


	25. Chief and Challenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate employs a novel tactic and Cullen loses his shirt

The next thing Kate knew, a fully-armored Cassandra was shaking her awake.

“Huh-wha?” Kate mumbled. She lifted her head to see that one of the tent flaps had been drawn back, revealing a morning of gray skies. Heavy drops drummed on the canvas overhead, and the rain fell in sheets beyond the door.

Kate stared at the weather dolefully, trying to remember why she didn’t want to wake up. Obviously, she was tired, and the weather was quite uninviting, but it was more than that. There was something else that had her wanting to hide in the blankets, something like…

Oh. Right.

Kate winced and placed a hand to her forehead. That was right. She had to plan for a mission. She had to plan for a mission _with Cullen_. And she had to do that after what had passed between them last night.

Kate’s stomach started to churn.

She and Cullen had argued. More than argued, Kate had shouted at him. She’d yelled in his face. In fact, Kate was pretty certain she’d called him names at some point.

 _Maker save me._ She had offended and angered _a templar_. At the thought, Kate’s hands began to shake. She couldn’t believe she’d been so careless. She instantly wanted to run away and hide. Every survival instinct demanded it. And yet, a stubborn, reckless part of Kate said that she’d been right to stand up for herself. It reminded her that Cullen had forced the interview in the first place.

Still, she could picture the look on his face just before he’d walked away from her. It haunted her, that wrecked look in his eyes. And yet, she was still furious with him. For him to act as though her questions were inappropriate, as though he had nothing to answer for…

A dull roaring filled Kate’s ears. It seemed to mingle with the pattering rain until Kate nearly felt as if she was underwater, under heavy black waves.

“Herald Trevelyan?”

Kate blinked, and found herself looking up at Cassandra. She probably looked ridiculous, Kate thought, with her bed roll bundled up to her shoulders like a cocoon. Maybe she should hide in here until her metamorphosis from an awkward, angry Circle mage into a proper, pious Herald of Andraste was complete. But that was assuming Kate could someday become a Chantry butterfly - a highly unlikely prospect.

“Are you alright?” Cassandra asked, frowning.

“Quite well,” Kate lied at once. Her voice sounded strangled to her own ears.

Cassandra looked unconvinced, but nodded all the same. “It is time to be moving,” the Seeker said, “Everyone is waiting on you.”

With that, she drew away from the tent flap and let it fall into place. Kate was left in semi-darkness.

Wonderful, Kate thought. She’d worried Cassandra, offended Cullen, and on top of that the entire camp likely viewed her as a lazy layabout. More than that, she still felt like she was pulsing with muffled fury.

Maker’s breath. This day had been ruined before it even started.

_And how many days have been ruined for those lost soldiers?_

The thought hit Kate out of the blue, almost as if it had been whispered into her ear from outside of her mind. Kate’s eyes widened and she gasped as if struck.

That was right, she thought. Whatever she had been through, the soldiers had suffered far worse. She could not allow an argument with Cullen to distract her from her purpose here.

 _Save lives first, settle matters with the templar later_ , Kate told herself. With that thought, she rummaged around in the mess on the floor of the tent. The clothes and the bedclothes all ran together, but Kate finally managed to locate her things. She put on a half-corset under the linen undershirt she’d slept in, then stabbed her legs into her pants, pulled on her overshirt and laced up her boots. Over a month ago, Kate had found dressing in a tent most inconvenient. But now, it was just her morning routine.

Outside, the camp was a flurry of activity. The scouts were mostly gathered around one of the tents, filling their packs with extra supplies for the missing soldiers. Cullen had thought of everything, it seemed.

Kate glanced around the camp, looking for him. She spotted Cullen at the requisitions table, standing under an awning that someone had set up to keep the rain off of the papers. Cassandra stood there as well, and also a dwarven woman in scout armor. Cullen had his back to Kate, and his fur mantle was matted and soaked with rain.

Kate sucked in a breath and gritted her teeth. This would be an awkward meeting, but that didn’t matter. The soldiers were more important than anything else. With that thought, Kate ducked her head and hurried across the camp. Her boots splashed in the puddles as she went, and she dashed under the awning. Cullen turned to her, startled by her sudden arrival. The dwarf seemed amused, and Cassandra was entirely unimpressed either way. The Seeker just continued to glare down at the papers on the table.

“Morning commander,” Kate said to Cullen, using her clearest, most authoritative voice. Or at least, that’s what Kate thought she said. A roaring erupted in her ears when she tried to speak. Unsure if she’d managed a confident greeting or not, Kate added a business-like nod in Cullen’s direction. Something flashed in his eyes for a moment, like a light flashing in the windows of an otherwise empty house. Then he turned back to the table. His face was a stony wall once more.

“We were going over the plan,” Cullen said, his tone chilly. “You and I will take point, Trevelyan. Cassandra and Harding will take charge of the remaining soldiers. Oh,” he added, turning, but not quite looking Kate in the eye, “I trust you’ve met Scout Harding, yes?” Here, Cullen waved a hand at the dwarf.

Well, Kate thought, this was every bit as stilted and awkward as she’d feared it would be. Still, Cullen hadn’t shouted at her or embarassed her in front of the others. In Kate’s experience, templars always found a way to punish mages for perceived infractions. But rather than getting her back for the argument last night, Cullen seemed to be pretending that it had not happened. Kate realized she’d been right about him: he would not harm her, even if he was angry at her.

 _Maker’s breath_ , Kate thought. If _that_ was her expectation of templars, then they had set the bar very low indeed, hadn’t they? The thought made her angry once again. Kate turned away from the commander and addressed the dwarven scout instead.

“I believe we met briefly in the Hinterlands, Scout Harding.”

“Good to see you again, Herald of Andraste,” Harding replied, as the dwarf shook Kate’s hand.

Kate tried to maintain her smile, but hearing the title ‘Herald of Andraste’ made Kate wince instead. She couldn’t quite forget how bitterly Cullen had used that title the night before. As if she needed another reason to dislike that moniker.

“I wish we were meeting under better circumstances,” Kate returned.

“As do we all,” Cullen muttered.

“Well, yes. Of course,” Kate said. She shook her head and tried to regain her footing.

“Alright then,” she said, turning back to Scout Harding. “Whatever went before, the soldiers are the important thing now. Shall we get to it?”

Cullen glanced up at once. For a moment - less than a moment - he studied Kate’s face. But then he looked away, and when he spoke again, his Ferelden accent wasn’t quite so clipped.

“This plan is going to need some careful coordinating,” he said, resting his hands on his sword hilt. “The good news is that Harding came back from her scouting with some excellent information about the keep.”

“Oh?” Cassandra asked.

“I got close enough to scout the keep itself,” Harding said, with a note of pride in her voice. “I ran the walls and counted numbers. Got a sense of what’s crumbling and what’s still intact.”

“Excellent work, Harding,” Kate said.

“Yes, excellent work,” Cullen agreed. “Harding found an inscription that identified the fortress as Hargrave Keep.” With this, he shoved a map in Kate’s direction. “I wouldn’t have guessed that at all from the terrain. This used to be a thriving bannorn before a plague rolled in.”

“Oh,” Kate frowned. “How awful.” Though that would explain the reports of undead, she reasoned. “This is a map of the keep?”

“Yes,” Cullen nodded. “I found it in one of the books I brought along.”

“You just _happened_ to have an atlas of Ferelden on you?” Kate said, unable to keep herself from chuckling in amusement.

“Yes,” Cullen returned, his tone steely.

“Oh,” Kate blinked. “Well, that’s good then, isn’t it?”

Maker, Kate thought. Would things always be this tense with Cullen from now on? She supposed they might. Yet again, Kate pushed aside her frustration. Instead, she turned her attention to the maps. The fortress was a rambling thing, but as Harding now explained, most of it was collapsed. The only real entrance was through the front, and the Avvar had holed up in the back.

“That’s an unfortunate advantage they have there,” Kate observed.

“Just so,” Cullen agreed. “I was thinking we’d be able to get our soldiers in closer, have them scale the side walls, maybe, but like this…” He shook his head.

Like this, Kate thought, the forward team would be entirely isolated from any potential backup. And as Kate and Cullen comprised the forward team, they would be entirely alone together once they reached the keep. Not a comfortable thought.

“Did you see any of our soldiers?” Kate asked Harding, trying not to dwell on that detail.

“No,” Harding said. “But there’s a door right here,” she pointed to the left side of the innermost part of the keep. “I saw an Avvar go in there with two loaves of bread and a jug of water,” Harding explained. “He left with just the jug, so unless he’s storing bread in a moldy room…” She broke off with a frown. “I’m hoping they’re in there, anyhow.”

“If they are, we’ll bring them home,” Kate said, reassuringly. “We’ll make certain that they have more than bread and water for dinner tonight.”

Again, Cullen’s eyes flicked to Kate’s face before he glanced away. “Hear, hear,” he muttered.

“How many Avvar are we dealing with, Harding?” Cassandra asked, pursing her lips as she looked down at the maps.

“About…six or seven?” Harding wrinkled up her nose. “It was hard to tell. They kept moving around the walls. We’re going to have to keep our troops _way_ back, ‘cause they can see pretty far from that keep. Most of them had bows.”

“Did you see that ‘Hand of Korth’ fellow?” Kate wanted to know.

“Sure did,” Harding said. “Well, that is, I think I did. I’m assuming he’s the one wearing horns and carrying a really big maul. Think he’s overcompensating for something, your Worship,” she added, elbowing Kate, “if you get what I mean.”

Kate bit back a laugh, but Cassandra and Cullen didn’t seem to have heard that part. They were both shaking their heads over the maps.

“I still think we could take them directly,” Cassandra said. “The Avvar can’t have greater numbers than we do.”

“They could have enough to do some serious damage,” Cullen said.

“How many people were in our lost troop?” Kate asked. “I assume the Avvar must have outnumbered us in order to take our soldiers without a fight.”

“Not necessarily,” Harding replied. “A stealthy scout team can take a bigger force without a shot fired.”

“Yes, but someone who goes by ‘The Hand of Korth’ and carries a giant maul doesn’t strike me as very stealthy,” Kate pointed out.

To Kate’s surprise, Cullen snorted at that. She thought he might have even smiled before he schooled his expression back into something more serious. Maybe he still had a sense of humor lurking in there after all.

“Whatever Korth is,” Cullen said, “We need to approach him carefully. Scout teams only, soldiers as back up.”

“Your plan takes too long, Cullen,” Cassandra put in just then. “It would be best to simply storm the keep.”

“Storm the keep?” Kate looked at the Seeker in disbelief. “We have, what? Twenty-some people with us?”

“And surely we are better trained than they,” Cassandra replied.

“That’s not wise,” Cullen replied. “It’s not just the risk to our captive soldiers. It’s also about future risk. If we offend against Avvar customs, even unwittingly, this could come back to haunt us. Avvar hold grudges. The last thing we want is some honor-mad chieftain sending all his people to attack us. Let’s just stick to the plan and play along with this challenge. It’s the best option.”

Much as Kate was feeling out of sorts this morning, she had to nod in approval at that remark. Whatever else Cullen was, he was far more contientious about the Avvar than most people would be. He hadn’t dismissed them as barbarians, as most military men would have. If only he had such consideration for mages, Kate thought.

Actually, Kate amended, that was the odd thing about Cullen. He wasn’t inconsiderate of mages in practice - at least the encounters Kate had seen. Based off his behavior to the mages of Haven - and to Kate herself - he’d been cordial, supportive, even. If she hadn’t heard his history, she would never have guessed it. And it wasn’t Cullen who had started shouting last night. That had been Kate’s fault.

Well yes, another part of her mind grumbled. But he’d started it. Maybe he hadn’t started shouting, but he’d started the fight by wanting to go recruit the templars. He’d started it by _being_ a templar in the first place. And now she was right back where she started, Kate realized. She felt twisted up and angry and she just wanted to be done with this mission already.

 _I bet the scouts want to be done with this nightmare, too,_ she thought.

“We cannot just ‘play along,’ Cullen,” Cassandra was saying with a scowl. “This is not a game.”

“I know it’s not,” Cullen said irritably. “But we can use the duel to our advantage. We will play fair - right up until the moment that Korth cheats.”

“You think he’ll cheat?” Cassandra asked. Harding gave her a wry look and nodded.

“I always plan for that eventuality,” Cullen said. “So we prepare for two games: the one where I win this duel and Korth gives us our people back, and the one where I win and Korth tries to double-cross us.”

“I hesitate to ask about the case where you _don’t_ win,” Harding chuckled. “No offense, commander.”

Kate laughed at Harding’s comment. Cullen glanced over at Kate, frowning.

“Do you share Harding’s concern?” he asked her.

Kate thought for just a moment, then shook her head.

“A braggart with a maul against a knight-captain? You’ll flatten him.”

Cullen seemed a bit taken aback at that, though he also looked flattered as well. But before he could say anything, a scout came over and interrupted him. Cullen turned to speak to the fellow, and Harding and Cassandra started talking about where they were going to take up their positions. That left Kate with nothing to do but look over the maps absently. As she did so, she spotted a letter that lay to the side of all the other papers. Being the sort of person who read everything placed in front of her, Kate skimmed the words without stopping to think that she was reading someone else’s mail. Then, suddenly, her eyes went wide.

“Alright then,” Cullen said, turning back to the table. “If we…”

“Wait a minute!” Kate grabbed up the letter. “This Korth fellow challenged you to a shield-reckoning?”

“Um, yes,” Cullen said, looking at Kate as if she were a bit slow. “That’s the reason we’re out here.”

“But you said we were here for a _duel_ ,” Kate said.

“Right,” Cullen said, nodding at her. “The duel with the Avvar.” He said this as though he might say, ‘please try and keep up, Trevelyan.” Kate might have found that annoying, except that she was so startled by this news. All thoughts of last night’s argument had now been pushed to the back of her mind.

“A shield-reckoning isn’t a duel,” Kate said. “Well, I mean it is, but it’s far more. You planned for that, right?”

“Planned for what?” Cullen said.

“Unless Lysette got this wrong - and, well, maybe she did - Korth challenged you to a shield-reckoning. That’s not just ‘climb into an arena and have at it.’ It’s got all sorts of extra traditions that have to be followed.”

“You’ve done a great deal of research into Avvar duels, have you?” Cullen asked. He sounded like he didn’t know if she was posturing or serious.

“Actually, I have,” Kate replied, loftily.

Sort of, she added, silently. The first book she’d read on the subject was not exactly a history tome. Kate had once picked up a dog-eared novel called _Chief and Challenger_ at the recommendation of one of the older apprentices. The book had indeed featured a shield-reckoning…followed by five chapters involving the various ways the chief had pleasured the challenger in celebration of her victory. The story had struck Kate as wildly improbable, especially the part where the chieftain went down on his knees and…

Well anyhow, the point was, Kate had been intrigued enough to do some research on the subject of Avvar tribes - while also reading through the entire Avvar romance section of the Ostwick library for good measure. Kate had never thought that her rather dubious taste in extra-curricular literature would come in handy. However, it appeared that today, it would.

“A shield-reckoning has all sorts of rules associated with it,” Kate said, thinking back on what she knew about the tradition - what the history books had corroborated from the novels, rather.

“Like what?” Harding asked.

“For a start, you’re supposed to go bare-chested.”

“I beg your pardon?” Cullen gaped at her.

Kate swallowed, for the moment she said that out loud, of course, her mind had to _picture_ it. Kate suddenly found herself wondering how toned Cullen’s muscles were under all that armor, and if he had hair on his chest to match the stubble on his jaw.

Kate squeezed her eyes shut as if in pain. _No, no, and no_ , she told herself. She was not thinking this. Being angry at Cullen was bad enough. Being _aroused_ by him was completely out of the question. Besides, Kate had much better things to do than wonder what the templar training regimen had done to Cullen’s body.

 _Maker’s breath._ Kate drew herself up stiffly and tried to return to the relevant point:

“In a shield-reckoning,” she said, her tone carefully crisp and neutral, “All participants must arrive at the match without armor. If they don’t, they’re declared ‘fear-weak.’ That can be grounds for disqualification. Or in our case…”

“That could be an end to the negotiations for the hostages,” Cullen said, his lips thinning.

“Right,” Kate nodded.

“You can’t be serious,” Cassandra sneered. “Arrive without armor on? What kind of a duel is that?”

“It’s not a duel,” Kate reminded her, “It’s a shield-reckoning.”

“What am I supposed to wear, then?” Cullen asked her. “Just my trousers?”

“Uh…”

Kate’s mind stuttered over the answer to that question. For in _Chief and Challenger_ , the heroes had both ended up wearing nothing but loincloths.

 _Don’t think it, don’t think it._ Kate told herself, but it was no use. The image from the cover of _Chief and Challenger_ popped into her mind, in all it’s lurid glory. However, superimposed over the chieftain’s overwrought physique, Kate now saw Cullen’s face, complete with the long braids and the fur loincloth, and…

And she did not need her overactive imagination to be distracting her like this, Kate thought, irritably. She imagined herself taking hold of her fantasy, closing it up like a book, and hurling the wretched thing across the camp.

“The clothing is determined by the challenger,” Kate said, a bit more sharply than she meant to. “Still, it’s customary that the fighters go shirtless.”

“But wait,” Harding said, glancing up at Kate. “The original challenge went to _you_ , your Worship. Does that mean you’ll be bare-chested, too?”

Cullen made a strange, strangled noise and quickly turned to examine the maps. Kate’s jaw dropped open. Harding burst out laughing. Only Cassandra seemed to miss the awkward tension.

“This is preposterous,” the Seeker said, wrinkling her nose. “We can’t send the Herald of Andraste walking into that keep topless.”

Cullen broke into a fit of coughing.

“I won’t be topless!” Kate cried, “It’s not like that. Look, if we follow tradition, then Cullen and I are supposed to show up wearing… Well, I imagine our trousers and undershirts would do. The fighters will disrobe further after that.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Armor is the challenger’s choice,” Kate continued briskly, “But the challenged party gets to decide on weapons.”

“Sword and shield then,” Cullen said, taking a shuddering breath. “ _That’s_ a relief. Possibly the only one,” he added in a mutter.

“Hang on,” Kate said, suddenly realizing something. “You don’t get to choose the weapons, Cullen. He does.”

“Why?” Cullen asked, looking up at her. His face was extremely red, probably from all that coughing.

“Normally you would get to choose the weapons,” Kate told him. “But if a champion is appointed, then the choice of weapon defaults back to the challenger.”

“Mauls it is then,” Harding said. “How’s your two-handed game, commander?”

“Not bad, actually,” he said, with a slightly cocky smile. “I trained with a greatsword for years. I don’t know how well that would translate to mauls, though.”

“This can’t be right,” Kate said, ignoring them and frowning at the letter. “Because _here_ it sounds like Korth is challenging me and Cullen both. Later, he issues the challenge to me alone. But then he turns around and says he won’t fight a mage. So…who does he want to fight? I can’t tell if Lysette transcribed this incorrectly or if there’s some kind of mistake.”

Cassandra snorted. “All the more reason to rush the place quickly and forget this duel foolishness.”

“If I’m the one challenged,” Kate mused, ignoring the Seeker, “then _I_ get to choose my champion, not Korth.”

“What, so now you don’t want me with you?” Cullen said, his brows furrowing. “We already decided that we’re together on this, Trevelyan.”

“No,” Kate assured him quickly. “We are, I promise you. But something is wrong with…”

She trailed off, cocking her head to one side.

“He did it on purpose,” Kate said, realization dawning. “He’s deliberately trying to trap us.”

“I think we already knew _that_ ,” Cullen said wryly.

“No, look,” Kate said. “He makes no mention of his shield-siblings. He _should_ have told us how many people he has with him. And I’m sure Lysette would have included that information if she knew it. Any soldier would.”

“That’s true,” Cullen agreed. “More likely, she and the others are in that room there, kept out of sight so they don’t have any information to give.”

“But Korth should have told us how many retainers - shield-siblings, rather - that he has with him,” Kate said. “There must be an equal number of witnesses from both sides. Otherwise, it is not a legitimate reckoning. See,” she said, stabbing a finger at the letter, “He’s _already_ cheated. But I’m guessing that he did it on purpose so that we wouldn’t know how many people we were allowed to bring.”

“So in other words,” Cullen said, “He’s cheating us in order to trick _us_ into cheating back.”

“And then he’s honor-bound to drop all negotiations entirely,” Kate agreed. “But he did it like this so that he can claim _we_ were the ones who dishonored the reckoning.”

Cullen snorted. “Well then. My opinion of this fellow went from complete derision to annoyed, yet grudging respect.”

“Eh,” Harding shrugged. “Wait until you see him, commander. I think you’ll settle on derision.”

“Well,” Kate mused, “At least, I _think_ that’s what Korth is doing. It could just be that Lysette misunderstood him. It’s not at all like the Avvar to be quite this underhanded. Even the villains in the novels… I mean, shield-reckonings are serious things.”

“I still say we should storm the keep,” Cassandra said.

“And _I_ still say that’s likely to get our soldiers killed before we can reach them,” Cullen said.

Kate thought a moment, and a wonderful, yet terrible idea suddenly occurred to her. It would be risky, but given the layout of the keep, it just might work.

“Wait a minute,” she said, holding out a hand, “We could shadow the shadows.”

When everyone looked confused, Kate pressed on, saying, “In _Chief and Challenger_ …” Kate caught herself, then shook her head. “I mean, in one of the books I read…”

“ _Chief and Challenger_?” Cassandra interrupted. She stared at Kate with wide eyes.

“Uh…” Kate froze. Cassandra couldn’t know that was a romance novel, could she? Surely not. She was a Seeker, for the Maker’s sake.

“Are you saying,” Cassandra said, very precisely, “that you got all this information about the Avvar from a book by Portia Plume?”

Or maybe Cassandra _did_ know that it was a romance novel.

“Um, yes?” Kate said, making a face. Then she couldn’t help but ask:

“Have _you_ read it?”

“I, er…yes,” the Seeker said, looking away.

“What, really?” Kate asked.

“It was for research,” Cassandra said, turning red. “I don’t remember the details of the shield-reckoning, though. More the part after…”

Kate bit her lips to keep from laughing aloud. It seemed that she and the Seeker shared the same taste in ‘research materials.’ Somehow, that made Kate feel a great deal better.

“I think I’m missing something,” Cullen said, frowning at each woman in turn.

“I think we are,” Harding agreed, though she sported a smile. “I also think I’m gonna have to look this book up when I get back to civilization.”

“No!” Cassandra cried.

“Anyway,” Kate said, determined to keep Cassandra from revealing the kind of book they were talking about. “We can use this. Plume based the reckoning in her book off of the tales of Tyrrda Bright Axe’s grandson. I read about that in _Avvar Tribes of Southern Ferelden,_ ” she added, lest Cassandra think Kate’s knowledge had entirely been cribbed from romance novels.

“Really?” Cassandra said, eyes widening. “I didn’t know that. I don’t suppose it was true when he…” She trailed off, casting a glance at Cullen. “Never mind,” she said, crisply. “We can discuss that later.”

“Right,” Kate nodded. Cullen now looked doubly confused.

“But in…” Kate caught herself just in time, “Uh, in _another_ book, they shadow the shadows. So if we use those two tricks together…”

“Yes,” Cassandra nodded. And from the way the Seeker’s eyes lit up with understanding, Kate guessed at once that Cassandra had also read _The Augur Who Loved Me._

“Yes,” Kate repeated, smiling.

“I still think I’m missing something,” Cullen said.

“Hear me out,” Kate said, setting the letter down on the table and reaching for the map of the keep. “I think there’s a way to beat this Hand of Korth at his own game…”

* * *

Cullen had no idea what history books Trevelyan and Cassandra had been reading, but he had to admit, their plan was a good one. It was clever, cautious, and best of all, there were multiple contingencies in case something went wrong.

In Cullen’s experience, something _always_ went wrong. That was the primary reason why he wasn’t so keen on this next part.

“Alright then, armor off, you two.”

Cullen glanced over at Scout Harding. The dwarf looked awfully cheerful about this part of the plan. But considering that Harding was cheerful about pretty much everything, Cullen doubted that the scout had any personal interest in seeing the Herald and the Commander strip down to their trousers and undershirts. The dwarf turned from where she’d been peeking around a line of boulders at the road ahead, and placed her hands on her hips expectantly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen saw Trevelyan take off her pack and shrug out of her jacket. He quickly looked away and concentrated on removing his own armor. He wasn’t going to watch her, he promised himself, just like he wasn’t going to imagine what he’d imagined this morning. Because when Harding had suggested that Trevelyan might enter the match bare-chested…

Maker, Cullen thought, drawing back from that idea. What an wretched way to start a mission. This whole morning had been nothing but awkwardness and strain and more awkwardness. Cullen had lain awake half the night thinking over that disastrous meeting with Trevelyan. Some hours before dawn, he had fallen into a fitful sleep. He had woken just as grumpy as he’d gone to bed, and headed to his work in the early morning.

For a time, he’d managed to lose himself in his work, but then Trevelyan had shown up. At her bold, unapologetic greeting, Cullen had felt… He didn’t quite know what to call it. It was a warring sort of feeling. On the one hand, he felt a deep desire to explain himself to Trevelyan, to make her see that he’d been reasonable and rational when all the templar Order had gone mad around him. On the other hand, Cullen now felt a deep, gnawing sort of guilt - deeper than usual, that is. He _had_ been a part of all that misery in Kirkwall. Perhaps nothing could ever excuse that crime. Perhaps no amount of service to the Maker could atone for his blindness. Perhaps Trevelyan had seen that he was beyond redemption.

No, Cullen thought irritably. Surely there was some good he could yet do, even if he did it at odds with the Herald. Though right now, she seemed focused enough. He respected that she’d set aside their fight and moved on. He’d half expected her to bring it up. But instead, there she was, considering the keep from afar, eyes narrowed, full lips pursed in consideration. In times like this, Trevelyan looked quite soldierly. More than soldierly, she looked…

Better not think on her looks, his reason cautioned him. For when Trevelyan had started talking about the details of a shield-reckoning - about going _bare-chested_ , of all things - Cullen’s mind had done a sort of stutter-step. At the word ‘topless’, a host of images crowded his vision. Cullen’s eyes had instantly gone to her chest, approximating size and guessing at skin tone and putting it all together in the most likely scenario. There were times when Cullen cursed his ability to judge terrain so well.

And someone had seen him ogling Trevelyan, which embarrassed Cullen even more. Harding had watched the whole conversation with great amusement. Even now, the dwarf seemed to think this was all very funny. She stood there, regarding Cullen with a smirk. A fork of lightening split the sky, and thunder rumbled out a warning into the bog.

“Well,” Trevelyan said. She wadded up her jacket and stuffed it into her pack. “This doesn’t look much like the setting in _Chief and Challenger._ More like _Midnight in the Brecilian Forest._ “

“Oooh!” Harding said, brightly. “I’ve read that one! It was scary.”

“It was,” Trevelyan agreed.

She sounded nervous, Cullen thought. She also looked very pale. Of course, that may have been the effect of the rain. Her usually bright hair was dimmed and darkened by the wet, and her lashes were like black spikes around her eyes.

Cullen wasn’t surprised that she was nervous. The mire had them all on edge by now. It had taken the entire morning to march just a few miles. When anyone disturbed the water - which was very easy to do in a swamp - a handful of lurching undead had come crawling out of the muck. The rotting corpses had stumbled after the troops, intent on attacking with bows and arrows - or with their decaying fingers. Thankfully, it wasn’t terribly difficult to deal with the undead. Enchanter Vivienne had frozen them in place and Cassandra had cut them down with her sword. But it had been time-consuming to tip-toe through the mire, and a bit alarming to know that a foot in the water might mean an arrow to the head. Because of this, it had been decided that Vivienne would remain here with a few soldiers and keep the exit clear. As for the plan going forward, a lot of that depended upon Korth.

Cullen set aside his gauntlets and began to unwind the furred mantle from his armor. Then he detached his metal shoulder guards, his breastplate, and unbuckled his leather jacket. He pulled that over his head, leaving on only his undershirt. When he looked up again, it was to find Trevelyan staring at him with… interest?

Cullen felt his face heat. Maker, surely not. Surely he had just imagined that look in her eyes. Now, Trevelyan simply seemed determined as she walked toward him. Cullen held his ground, wondering what she was on about. Trevelyan drew close. Cullen swallowed and his hands clenched into fists.

“I’m with you,” she whispered.

A breath half-escaped him, caught somewhere between his throat and his lips. “Wha-?”

“I know we don’t have time to talk,” Trevelyan went on. “And I know that after what happened yesterday, and what I said… But our people need us. I’m with you. On this mission at least. And later…” She trailed off there.

 _Later what_ , he wondered? Her whispers came fast and low, her breath was soft and warm beside his ear. Cullen felt his gut grow tight in response. But at the same time, his fingers uncurled, and his hands hung heavy at his sides.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered back.

The words were out of his mouth before he had thought them through.

“In the Gallows,” he said, looking down at her. “I didn’t know. Truly, I… I know you don’t believe me, and I know you think I ought to have… But I didn’t.”

He concluded this incoherent offering with a choked sort of sound. No other words would follow. Even that small concession terrified him. In that moment, Cullen felt as if all the ghosts of Kirkwall lurked just under the water of the mire. If he said anything more, those ghosts might very well rise up and attack him. It was an irrational thought, but the image haunted his mind. Cullen felt desperately exposed, and it had nothing to do with being out of his armor.

Trevelyan looked up at him with furrowed brows, and Cullen couldn’t tell if she was confused by him or disgusted with him or just worried about the mission.

“We can speak of this later,” Cullen managed. He swallowed and looked away from her searching eyes.

Trevelyan nodded, her expression still unreadable.

“Are you ready?” she asked him.

“I have to be,” he replied, and together they set off into the rain.

* * *

They had a clear path to the keep ahead, Kate saw, and Andraste save her if it wasn’t the most ominous road she had ever laid eyes on. There were stone cairns set at intervals along either side and thick, heavy chains hung between each cairn. The approach made Kate think of a rotting ship at the end of a long, rickety pier. She started drawing closer to Cullen, then realized what she was doing. Kate paused, then got as close to Cullen as she could without touching him. She decided that she’d rather stand by the former templar than walk alone.

Hargrave Keep was huge, much bigger than she’d imagined. As they went creeping towards it, Kate felt quite small. Even Cullen seemed smaller now without his armor on. He was still impressive, Kate had to admit. She hadn’t failed to notice his broad shoulders or the few faint, gold hairs that peeked over the neckline of his shirt. She supposed those hairs partially answered at least _one_ of her mind’s unhelpful questions. But now, as they neared the outer gate, Kate realized Cullen looked rather vulnerable without his furs and metal on. He was flesh and bone, just as she was. And Cullen was about to pit his flesh-and-bone self against a rogue chieftain and a really big maul.

The gate loomed before them, the spiked ends of the portcullis hanging down like iron teeth set in a gaping mouth. Kate shuddered as they passed through the opening and then entered an inner courtyard. Walls and wooden walkways soared up around them on all sides. The place was a warren, Kate thought. She didn’t remember any of this from the maps. And now, she felt a sudden worry that perhaps this wouldn’t work after all.

“You have the flares?” Cullen murmured. The sound of his voice was so unexpected in the rain that it caused Kate to jump. She sucked in a breath, then nodded.

“Yes, of course. They’re in my, um…yes.”

“They’re in your what?” Cullen demanded, though he hissed these words quietly. “Maker’s breath, you didn’t leave them behind, did you?”

“I have them,” Kate shot back irritably.

“Where?” Cullen pressed.

“In here,” she hissed, pointing at her breasts.

Cullen stared at her chest for a moment, then flushed and looked quickly away. “Oh.”

“Well it’s not like these pants have pockets,” Kate muttered, blushing as well. “I had to stuff them into my corset.”

“Cor…” he seemed to choke. “Alright. Sorry I asked,” he trailed off, muttering.

“I still think I should cast a spell,” Kate added, speaking more because she was embarrassed than because she really wanted to revisit this. “Fire for the red flare, ice for the blue…”

“The scouts are expecting a flare,” Cullen reminded her. “The scouts are used to responding to flares.”

“The scouts could get used to responding to magic, too,” Kate mumbled, but Cullen wasn’t listening. Now that they’d reached the other side of the courtyard, they could see that the portcullis was down, blocking the path.

“Huh,” Kate said, drawing up short as well. “I guess they aren’t expecting us.”

Cullen turned around, searching the walkways and walls. “There has to be a control somewhere,” he muttered.

Just then, Kate saw a movement.

“Cullen,” she said, cringing into him.

“I see them,” he replied, barely moving his lips.

“They’re trailing us.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “Pretend not to notice them.”

That was kind of difficult to do when Kate _did_ notice them. She tried not to shudder as an archer ducked into an alcove just above them.

“Ah,” Cullen said, pointing back at the walkway above the main gate. “The controls are up there.”

“I’ve got it,” Kate said.

“No,” he said, sharply. “We shouldn’t split up…”

But Kate had already stretched out her right arm. She curled her fingers into a fist and drew her arm down in a pulling sort of motion. The handle far above their heads dropped down, and the portcullis behind them raised up.

“Well,” Cullen said. He blinked at her in surprise. “That’s convenient.”

“Magic often is,” Kate returned. But just then, the portcullis that led back to the mire suddenly fell shut.

“Except when it’s not,” Kate muttered. “Well, there goes our way out.”

“Damn,” Cullen hissed. “They’re connected. Can’t raise the one without closing the other.”

“That’s not good,” Kate said, belatedly realizing that she was stating the completely obvious.

“Can you switch the controls back once we’re through?” Cullen asked her.

“It’ll be noisy,” Kate pointed out.

“Nothing we can do about that,” Cullen told her. Jerking his head, he nodded at the path onward. Kate fell in step beside him at once, trying to ignore the shadows that lurked behind them.

* * *

Cullen kept his eyes on the towers, noting every movement that seemed more than just the patter of the rain. He and Trevelyan walked more quickly now, under the second gate and into the inner courtyard. Once there, Cullen motioned his head at Trevelyan. She gave him a worried look, but she raised her hand and waved it all the same. Behind them, the inner portcullis went sliding down into place with a great groan, and they were blocked in.

Of course, Cullen thought, this whole place was corralling them up and in. There were wings off to both sides, but the high walls about them kept them from being able to reach those upper walkways. High in the crumbling towers, the unlit windows looked like empty eye sockets. And even though Cullen had seen Ferelden ruins before, he found his heart beating faster and faster as they walked. He told himself that was just a function of the mission. He always found himself with his heart pounding, his hands shaking slightly. He would be fine once the actual battle began. Then his training would take over.

Unfortunately, Cullen thought, he was worried about Trevelyan. He was fighting a very strong impulse to send her away and keep her out of danger. But Korth had asked for her by name, so she was necessary to the mission. Cullen still wished he could keep her out of this. She was already looking even more shaky than before.

Before them, the ground rose swiftly on a hillside, and then headed up into a flight of stairs. The inner keep now loomed beyond that, with walls as stark and gray as steel. When they reached the steps, Trevelyan took a step closer toward Cullen and shuddered.

“We’re going to be alright,” he reassured her.

* * *

Kate was certain Cullen was lying. She had this horrible, nagging feeling that something was about to go wrong. Andraste’s tears, but the Veil was _so_ thin in this mire. She had thought that would lessen as they got away from the boggy places where the undead were. Instead, the Veil felt weakest here near the great hall. Of course, that weakness was all relative. Paper-thin to tissue-paper-thin wasn’t much by way of comparison. It was probably just her imagination, anyway.

Just then, Kate glanced over her shoulder and spotted another movement in the shadows. She flinched, then turned her head back to the keep. The braziers out front were lit, Kate saw. The dull embers glowed eerily in the overcast light of the late afternoon. It seemed the Avvar were waiting for them. And if all went to plan, Kate told herself, then Cullen was right. They would be fine, and there was nothing to worry about.

Oh, Kate thought. What was she thinking? She was about to try and pull off a plan that she’d cobbled together from some old history books and a trashy Avvar romance novel, for the Maker’s sake. There was no way in the Void that this was going to work. For all the ‘serious’ books she read over the years, Kate realized that she had also devoured an awful lot of fluff, too. The fluff must have softened her mind.

“This isn’t going to work,” Kate whispered.

“It will work,” Cullen murmured back. “It is already working.”

“Are you sure?” Kate looked up at the stairway before them and it seemed to stretch on forever.

“At times like this, you have to trust the people you’re working with,” Cullen returned. He paused, then cast her a wry half-smile. “It’s one of those things they drill into us in templar training.”

Kate didn’t have enough energy left to respond to that statement. She felt as if she were using up all her resolve just to place her foot on that staircase and climb the steps after him.

“Mages are rarely trained to work together,” Cullen went on, murmuring to her as they climbed, “That’s why you’re not used to relying on anyone but yourself. But the scouts have our back. Stick to your part and we’ll be fine.”

Kate nodded. Stick to her part. She could do that.

Before them was a long, narrow passageway made of stone. The roof of it had long since crumbled, leaving the space open to the sky, but the walls along it were high and slicked with rain. Kate could see the hint of a large room beyond, lights flickering there in eerie welcome.

“And don’t forget,” Cullen added, as they reached the top step. “You have a weapon.”

“Yes, I know,” Kate nodded. “My magic.”

“No, not the magic,” Cullen said, stopping for a moment at the top of the stairs. “That staff. You mages never get trained to use them properly, but…”

“I can fire a mage staff,” Kate said, defensively. Alright, so she couldn’t twirl the thing in the fancy way that Solas and Vivienne did, but she could still get power from it.

“I don’t mean fire it,” Cullen said, shooting her a pointed look. “I mean _use_ it. I can’t count the number of times a mage might have survived a battle if they’d just used that giant hunk of wood as a weapon. But you mages never think of it as a quarterstaff, because you weren’t trained to do so.”

He added that last bit in a mutter, and Kate just stared at him. She took a breath, both to calm her nerves and to help her process what he’d just told her. Firstly, Cullen had just said that he’d been in battles where mages had been cut down for lack of proper training. He may have even been the one who did the cutting-down of those improperly trained mages.

But secondly, it felt as if he was giving up some big secret by telling her this. In the Circles, mages were trained to control and leash their powers. Only in rare cases were they encouraged to _use_ them. That Cullen would suggest a way for a mage to be more powerful flew in the face of everything Kate knew about templars.

“Anyhow” he went on, “what I’m saying is this: if you find yourself in a corner, remember that you’re carrying a big stick.”

* * *

Cullen was ready to see this done. The missing soldiers had been here for over five days, Trevelyan was visibly trembling, and it was time to finish this.

Evidently, whoever was inside of the great hall believed this as well.

“The Hand of Korth seeks your destruction!” Cullen heard someone shout. “Behold, how the sky-tearers come to accept their punishment.”

Cullen was about to remind Trevelyan that this was her cue, but the moment she heard the taunt, she straightened her shoulders and her eyes narrowed. Trevelyan cast a quick barrier spell over the two of them before shouting down the hallway:

“Is this how you greet those who answer your challenge? You know little of honor, chief’s-son-in-borrowed-titles. Let us settle this boldly: not with words and breath, but with blood and bone and a proper reckoning.”

“Andraste’s tears,” Cullen whispered to her. “Do you rehearse this stuff?”

“Um, kind of?” she whispered back. More loudly, she called:

“We enter this place of proving, and demand to settle the terms of your challenge before we begin the fight.”

They stepped into the great hall, and Cullen’s eyes instantly scanned the room. The place had once been a proper feast-hall, he could see, with beamed ceilings and heavy iron chandelier. The roof had long since fallen, however, leaving the place open to the sky. It looked like the cracked rib cage of a corpse.

Korth stood in the great hall before them, and Cullen quickly sized the fellow up. He was easily half again as wide and tall as Cullen was, and as Harding had warned, he carried an enormous maul. Korth didn’t appear to be wearing any armor, but it was hard to tell under all the white mud that he’d smeared over himself. The man looked like an overwrought statue, liberally covered in bird droppings.

“The Veil is weak here,” Trevelyan hissed at Cullen, so quickly he almost missed it. Cullen didn’t like the sound of that, but he nodded all the same.

“Be careful with your casting then,” he replied. He then added, “I see two archers hiding in the corners of that raised space behind him.”

And there were also the Avvar trailing them, Cullen thought. But he didn’t say this, for now Korth came lumbering forward, his maul on his shoulder.

“Don’t question my honor, spirit-siphoner,” Korth sneered at Trevelyan. “This is a reckoning between warriors, not the fade-flinging of your weak lowland spell-casters.”

But even as he said this, Cullen noticed that Korth seemed to shift nervously. He glanced over to his left, as if warily watching the gallery that ran along either side of the keep. Cullen didn’t turn his head, but he, too, glanced at the galleries. Cullen saw nothing there, however.

“If we are to reckon properly,” Trevelyan said, haughtily, “Then you must deliver a proper challenge, chief’s-son. Your challenge was sent to me and Commander Cullen both. Thus we have arrived to battle you, together.”

As Trevelyan had predicted, this startled Korth. The giant man sputtered, and mud went flying from his lips.

“You cannot challenge me as twin-blades. I do not accept it.”

“You challenged us _both_ ,” Trevelyan replied. “Unless your scribe wrote wrongly.”

“She wrote wrongly,” Korth said quickly. “I challenge _you_ sky-tearer. I challenge you and shall make your army-commander’s blood answer for it.” With this, he hefted his maul from his shoulder and pointed it at Cullen’s middle.

“But you challenged _me_ ,” Trevelyan said, “So _I_ get to appoint my champion. Or maybe I won’t,” she added, holding up her left hand and pretended to examine her nails. “I think I would rather fight you myself. The mark of the skies against your maul? It will be a reckoning shorter than any in your histories.”

As she spoke, Trevelyan turned her hand over, allowing the mark to start glowing and spitting sparks. Cullen had to admit, it was an effective threat. Of course, he knew that her mark didn’t work like that. Korth remained ignorant of this fact, however, and the Avvar’s eyes grew wide.

“I will fight none but the warrior of the armies,” the big brute said.

And that, Cullen thought, was his cue to speak:

“Oh, really?” he drawled. “Well then, I accept your challenge. And we’ll be fighting with sword and shield. There ought to be some old ones lying about here,” he added, nodding at the debris in the hall. “Go find something your size. Make sure it’s not too rusted.”

“I…” Korth clutched at his maul and gaped at them both.

“Is something wrong?” Trevelyan said, with false concern. “You _did_ say you were challenging the warrior, didn’t you? So that means Cullen has the right of weapon-choice. If you challenge _me_ , then I’m fighting you with my magic. Which death do you prefer?”

Korth’s mouth opened and shut several times as he lathered himself into a fury. “I will do neither, lowland-liars! I fight your commander with this maul, and I will feed his body to the bog-fishers when I’ve done with him!”

“Promises, promises,” Cullen _tsk_ -ed, shaking his head.

“You will do no such thing,” Trevelyan said, striding forward boldly, “Until you offer him a proper challenge. Otherwise, you have violated the terms of our deal, er…broken our bargaining. I trust your shield-siblings -” she shouted those two words to the rafters, “are all true tribesfolk. They will act with shield-honor, and remove themselves from this place peaceably. They will not allow even you to dishonor your father’s name…”

But here, it seemed that Trevelyan miscalculated. For no sooner had she said the word ‘father,’ than Korth bellowed with rage and rushed at her. Cullen barely had time to get his shield up, but could not reach Trevelyan before Korth’s maul came swinging. It hit Trevelyan full in the chest, and she went flying back down the hallway like a rag doll, hit the stones and skidded slowly to a stop. Cullen watched in horror, feeling as though Korth had knocked Cullen’s guts down the hallway as well.

Korth laughed, his voice mixing with the rumbling thunder overhead. And in that moment, Cullen saw nothing but lightning and fire. He whirled back on the Avvar, and with a roar, he launched himself at the giant.

* * *

Kate rolled over onto her stomach, coughing and gasping for breath. She and Cullen had debated whether casting a barrier spell would technically be a violation of the terms of a reckoning or not. Cullen had argued that an augur-averse Avvar would likely not notice her subtle magics. In this case, he had said, it would be better to bend the rules and be safe, than to follow the rules and be sorry.

Kate was glad she’d agreed. If she hadn’t cast that spell, her ribs and lungs would have been crushed. Even with the cushioning effect of the barrier, it had knocked the wind of her. She scrambled to her feet and snatched up her fallen staff.

In the center of the hall, the battle raged without her. Korth’s maul was dropping over and over again in heavy, hammer-like blows. It made Kate think of a drunken woodcutter, who couldn’t quite figure out where the stump had gone off to. As for Cullen, he was circling around Korth in a fluid, deadly dance, dodging away and then striking with quick cuts to Korth’s massive body. Korth’s white mud coating was crossed through with multiple lines of red blood, but Cullen appeared unharmed as of yet. More than unharmed, the former templar fought as if he was possessed. And because of that, Cullen didn’t see the archers in the distance taking aim at him.

“Cullen!” Kate cried in warning.

She shot a shard of ice from her palm at one of the archers, then tried to hit the other with a blast of ice from her staff. Neither attack did much damage, but it was enough to throw off their aim. Their arrows clattered harmlessly off of the walls behind Kate. Kate began to gather her power to put them out of commission entirely.

But it seemed Kate’s spell had distracted someone else as well. Cullen turned at the sound of her voice, and Korth had used that opportunity to line up a stronger blow.

“Watch out!” Kate cried.

Kate cast another barrier spell over Cullen, and not a moment too soon. Korth’s maul came crashing down, and though Cullen managed to get his shield up, he staggered back under the weight of the blow. Kate could see that the archers were taking aim in the distance, and she felt panic wash over her. Her barriers couldn’t possibly hold under this redoubled assault. _Cullen_ couldn’t hold up under such an assault.

Kate tried to decide if she should risk casting at the archers, or if she should save her power for barrier spells. Then suddenly, one of the archers fell, crumpling as though made of paper. An arrow stuck from his throat, and in that moment, a familiar snarl tore the air. Kate whirled around to find Cassandra sprinting into the room, with Harding scampering right behind her. The dwarf nocked another arrow to her bow, and Kate saw her take aim at the second archer. The enemy archer fired first, but his arrow pinged harmlessly off of Cullen’s barrier spell. Kate gathered her power and cast another barrier on Cullen and Cassandra both. Harding’s second shot took the remaining archer in the stomach, and the fellow folded in half with a groan.

“Excellent timing, Harding,” Kate said, feeling relief and hope flood her.

“Hey, it was _your_ plan,” Harding said, drawing out another arrow. “The Avvar followed you guys in and we followed _them_. Got the jump on them as they were getting ready to get the jump on you. They’re all tied up in the courtyard, by the way. Scouts are sitting on them.”

Kate just grinned. _Trust the people you’re working with,_ Cullen had said. Well, Kate thought, he had been right about that. It seemed she was no longer a lone mage. She had an entire army to rely on, and that was an incredible feeling. Behind them, Kate saw a few more scouts file into the room, bows at the ready. Cassandra and Cullen circled Korth, shouting for his surrender.

Korth kept flailing his maul wildly. He looked to the galleries, as if searching for reinforcements that weren’t coming. Harding shot him neatly in the leg, and the great Avvar staggered. Then Cullen bashed Korth with his shield, and the brute stumbled. He tripped backward over some lose rubble, and fell. Cassandra circled around to one side of the Avvar as Cullen circled to the other. They held him at sword-point and Cullen jerked his chin at the fallen man.

“Now then,” Cullen said, in a tone so cold that Kate scarcely recognized it as Cullen’s voice. “Where are our soldiers?”

“Widris!” Korth bellowed in reply.

“That had better mean ‘yield’ in Avvar,” Cullen shot back, “because right now the only thing that will save your life is your complete surrender.”

Kate had never seen Cullen look so dangerous. But she didn’t think Korth was trying to surrender. Maybe he was crying out to one of the Avvar gods? Her suspicion was confirmed when the Avvar shouted even louder:

“I give them to you, Widris! Take them as your battle-gift, from my hand to yours!”

With that, a shadow detached itself from the darkness of the gallery, and Kate gasped. For a moment, she thought it _was_ a god, for the Veil seemed to shrink and twist. But then Kate realized it was no spirit, but a man - a man in a dark cloak, with a knife glinting in his hand.

“Rogue!” Harding cried, pointing her arrow at the new arrival, but Kate shot forward, gathering all the magic that she could muster.

“No!” she shouted, “Blood mage…!”

But the knife had already fallen. The mage - Widris, Kate supposed his name was - exposed a forearm lined with cuts, and swiftly slashed the knife into his own skin.

Cullen and Cassandra turned to face him, but in that moment, several things happened at once. Korth lunged and grabbed Cullen’s leg and _bit_ him. Cullen let out a shout of pain as the Avvar’s teeth closed around his leather-clad calf. Cassandra reached out her sword hand toward Widris and Harding loosed an arrow. But all this was blasted away in a tremendous burst of dark blood that exploded through the keep like a tidal wave.

Kate threw her hands up. Without even thinking, she pulled the Veil in front of herself like a screen. The force of the blood-blast went shooting around her. Kate could feel the hot splash on her face, could feel the trailing gust of wind. She felt the Veil shrink and coil like oil and water together, but she herself was untouched.

When Kate opened her eyes, she saw that all her allies had been knocked down by that blast. Cassandra, Cullen and Korth lay in a dazed tangle, and their reinforcements lay unmoving against the wall. A short distance away, Harding rolled over onto her back and let out a groan. Only Kate and the blood-mage were standing.

“His plan was feeble,” Widris said, waving at Korth dismissively. “And yet, it was effective. For here it is: the mark of the skies, delivered to up to me like a sacrifice.”

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” Kate shot back, gathering power as quickly as she could, “but you attacked the _wrong_ Inquisition.”

“I attacked no one,” the mage said, with false innocence. “I simply waited and watched, coaxed and clung. I hid in the shadows, whispering at this oaf’s mind. I knew he’d draw you here, knew he’d give you to me. A power like this cannot be wasted on a little girl like you. It should be mine. It _must_ be mine!”

With this, Widris launched himself at Kate, and blood and fire exploded around her. Kate cried out, drawing both a wall of ice before her and a barrier around her. Her startled spells used up nearly all her power, yet these protections were instantly singed away. Kate scarcely had enough time to cast another barrier on herself before Widris was casting again. Widris was an incredibly powerful mage, and the blood magic was making it worse.

“No!” Kate heard someone yell. It sounded like Cullen, alarmed and anguished. Kate ran for the corner of the room, ducking behind a stone pillar just as another blast went off behind her.

“Herald!” Kate heard Harding yell.

“Find our soldiers!” Kate shouted back at her.

“You will _fall_!” Kate heard Widris shout. He was circling toward her and from a loud shout in the center of the room, Kate guess that Korth had also reared his horned head once more. When Kate glanced around the side of the pillar, she saw Cullen and Cassandra were dashing out of the way of Korth’s maul. Harding was frantically gathering up her dropped bow and scattered arrows.

“Find the hostages, Harding!” Kate shouted again. “Get them out of here!”

Widris rounded the pillar and raised his hands at Kate. But instead of running, she Fade-stepped herself right at him. Kate slid through the Fade, skidding past Widris in a whirl of cold wind. Her spell deposited her at the other end of the room. When she glanced over her shoulder, Kate saw Widris staring down at his frosted limbs in a daze. Kate gulped in a breath, taking stock of where she’d landed.

She now stood on the raised dais at the far end of the hall, with two dead archers lying on either side of her. From here, Kate saw Cullen battling Korth. Cassandra had gone after Widris, but with a flick of his hand, the blood mage sent a flare of fire in the Seeker’s direction. Cassandra barely got her shield up in time. On the other end of the room, Harding ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, headed for a door set into the wall.

Just then, Cullen let out a roar. Kate looked up to see him charge Korth, striking the Avvar in the face with his shield. Korth went down like a felled tree, and Cullen jumped on top of him, one knee to the Avvar’s broad chest. Cullen placed his sword at Korth’s throat, and Kate saw his lips form the word, “Surrender.” From this distance and with the storm raging overhead, she could not hear Cullen’s voice.

Kate had no idea what Korth said back, but Cullen grimaced and slashed his sword to the side in a killing blow. Korth’s muddy body flailed, and Cullen staggered back. He let out a sigh, then turned his attention to the blood mage.

“Surrender,” he shouted, now pointing his bloodied sword at Widris. But the mage just laughed.

“You’re surrounded and bested,” Cassandra yelled at the blood mage. “As a Seeker, I can…”

She stretched out her arm, but got no further than that. Her arm was instantly bent back at a sharp angle, as if twisted by an invisible force. Cassandra cried out in pain, then went flying across the room as if struck. Cullen ran for Widris, but the mage shot fire from his palm. Cullen rolled to the floor, angling his shield up to block the inferno.

“Cullen!” Kate shouted, but her voice was drowned out by a roll of thunder overhead. She could have used another fade-step spell to throw herself between Widris and Cullen, but Kate realized that would be foolish. Instead, another plan formed in her mind, and she started running for Widris as fast as the slippery stones would allow, gathering energy as she went.

From where he lay on the floor, Cullen readied himself as if to spring, but Widris just raised an arm. It looked like the opening moves of a dance. At the same time, a stream of blood flowed into the air from Korth’s split throat, swirling in a rush toward Cullen. Cullen gasped and drew back, slashing at the blood as if it were a snake.

“Oh, so the warrior doesn’t like blood?” Widris sneered. “You seemed so eager for it a moment ago. Well, then, _warrior_ , let’s see how you deal with _this_ …”

Widris drew his hands up, the blood gathering before him in a whirlwind. Kate could feel the Veil thinning, could feel something - wraiths, demons, she didn’t know which - pressing at the other side.

Cullen gave an incoherent cry and threw aside his shield. He shot out his left hand, and Kate stumbled to a stop. She recognized that motion, and anticipated what came next: the Holy Smite of a templar. Lightning split the sky overhead, and in that burst of light, Kate thought, for a moment, that Widris had met his end.

But then the moment passed. Thunder rumbled out over the keep, the rain continued to fall, and Widris was still alive, still drawing forth blood and power from Korth’s body. There was no blue-white blast from the lyrium in Cullen’s veins. Instead, Cullen blinked at his outstretched hand, as if astonished to find that nothing had happened.

Widris threw his head back and laughed. Kate had no idea what had gone wrong, no idea how Widris had countered Cullen’s templar powers with his blood magic. But now, Kate saw her opening. As Widris gathered the swirling blood into a small sphere before him, Kate stalked up behind the blood mage, rain pouring down her face into her eyes. She drew on her own power, honing her will to a fine point, and then…

 _WHACK_.

Kate swung her staff with all of her might. She connected with her target - Widris’ head - though it were the ball in a game of rounders. The mage stumbled forward, landing on his knees, and all the swirling blood he’d commanded splashed ineffectually to the soaked stone floor.

Kate just stood there for a moment, her body still half-twisted in the follow-through of that blow. She was shocked that had worked so well. Widris scrambled to his knees, turning to Kate with hate in his eyes.

“You!” he screamed. “The mark is…”

Kate didn’t let him finish. She funneled all her magic directly into the wet ground, letting the spell race through Widris like a charge. Then, at the last moment, Kate clenched her fingers and the spell solidified. Ice exploded through the blood mage’s veins in sudden crystallization. Widris let out a sound that began as a scream and trailed off as a choked whisper. His last breath ghosted up into the rain as a mist. An ice shard stuck out of Widris’ mouth from his mangled throat, a hundred more like it pierced through his skin like fractured bones.

Kate swallowed back bile at the sight of her handiwork. She then lifted her eyes to see Cullen, backed by Cassandra, Harding, and a knot of Inquisition soldiers. Every eye in the room was on Kate.

Cullen’s stared at her with wide eyes. His hair was plastered to his head from the rain. Likewise, the rain had slicked his shirt to his chest, and where it wasn’t stained by blood and gore, the material had gone completely sheer. It now occurred to Kate that this scene was like something right out of a novel. But it wasn’t a romance. Rather, this was like something out of the horror novels that Coll favored, with dead bodies and blood everywhere.

Kate supposed that made her the monster in this tale: the powerful mage that everyone feared. For surely, that was what they were thinking. Everyone looked at her as if she were a stranger.

“I…” Kate began, not sure what to say.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen said, striding over to her. Kate flinched as he approached, but when he drew near, Cullen reached out with his empty left hand and grabbed her by the shoulder.

Kate gasped, startled by the touch. His hands were freezing, but so was her arm, so it felt like numb on numb. Cullen pulled her into a embrace, his sword arm loosely wrapped around her back. Kate’s heart leaped as she found herself held tightly against his solid chest, his warm breath at her ear. The only coherent thought that went through Kate’s head at that moment was a stunned, _Oh._

But before she could fully comprehend his touch, Cullen let his right arm drop, carefully keeping his sword away from her. He then stepped back, still holding her by the shoulder with his other hand.

“Are you alright?” he demanded.

“Fine,” she gulped. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t fine, Kate thought. She was muddled and shaking and felt like she had just crawled to shore after a long swim in dark waters. But she was alive, and Cullen was alive, and come to think of it, everyone was alive except for Widris and the Hand of Korth and those two archers up there. That was amazing, really.

“We did it,” Kate said, astonished at the outcome.

“ _You_ did it,” Cassandra said, coming up behind Cullen. Cullen immediately dropped his grip on Kate’s arm, and Kate had only a moment to catch her breath before Cassandra threw her arms around Kate. The Seeker’s breastplate crushed Kate’s chest for a moment before Cassandra set Kate back on her heels.

And then, before Kate could think, Harding had her arms around Kate’s waist, the rescued soldiers were all standing about her. Some patted Kate on the back and some dared to offer her a hug. Then they were hugging one another and Cullen and Cassandra, too. Cassandra smiled wider than Kate had ever seen, and Harding cried out, “Hey, don’t crush the dwarf!” as two soldiers embraced right over the top of her head. Kate found herself smiling, then chuckling, then laughing between hugs. She had always thought soldiers were rather stiff and stand-offish. But she now realized that after a battle, all that changed.

“I can’t believe you came for us,” someone said.

That was all the warning Kate had before yet another person wrapped their arms around her. Kate had no idea who she was hugging until the person drew back. Then a familiar face smiled up at Kate, eyes shining.

“Lysette?” Kate blinked. “Lysette!” she said again, and now she drew the woman in for another fierce hug. After everything that had happened here, Kate was grateful to see one familiar face from Ostwick, even if it was a templar’s.

Actually, Kate thought, as she let Lysette go and drew back to stare at the woman, that was unfair of her. The distinction of templar and mage didn’t matter here - not in this keep, not in this moment.

“I can’t believe you came for us,” Lysette was saying. “I honestly don’t know if I would have done the same in your place, Trevelyan. Ah, I mean, my lady. I mean your worship. I mean…”

“Kate,” Kate told her. “Call me Kate, alright?”

She glanced over Lysette’s shoulder and added, “That goes for all of you. No more of this ‘Herald’ and ‘Worship’ business, alright? I’m Kate. We nearly died out here, but we lived instead, so it’s Kate.”

Kate wasn’t at all sure if that made sense whatsoever, and she wasn’t even sure if half of the soldiers were listening. But Lysette was listening, and she nodded and smiled.

“Kate,” she repeated, solemnly.

Cullen also was listening, Kate noticed. Throughout all of this, he had remained a short distance away, giving out one-armed hugs and telling the soldiers,“Well done.” And yet, Kate now realized he kept looking back at her between each of these interactions. Kate wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly. She was trying to avoid his gaze. After everything that had just happened, she felt…odd. It wasn’t just the way the Veil was shifting back into place around them and the way her hands still stung from the impact of the wood staff against Widris’ head. She felt as if something was pressing at her heart, pinching and poking…

Then Kate realized there actually _was_ something pressing at her heart. Or at her breasts, rather. Kate chuckled once, then burst out laughing. Beside her, Lysette looked on, confused.

“What…?” the templar began.

Kate reached into her shirt, rummaged around in her corset, and pulled out a handful of crushed tubes made from heavy paper.

“Should I send up a flare now, Cullen?” she gasped out before laughing once more.

Cassandra giggled and covered her mouth with her hand. Harding and the rescued soldiers erupted with laughter, and Cullen flushed and looked away, a shy smile on his face. He then glanced back at her and gave a shrug.

“I suppose we can forgo the flares,” he said, his tone deadpan.

Kate snorted loudly, and everyone laughed even harder at her reaction.

“Good thing those didn’t go off inside your shirt,” Harding pointed out.

“Oh, Maker, no!” Kate cried, pressing her hands to her chest defensively. The soldiers burst out laughing again, and Kate grinned and shook her head at Harding.

“At least you survived,” Cassandra said, ever practical, and ever returning to the point. She turned and at Widris. “I suppose we need to deal with the dead now. Should we just burn the corpses?”

“Maybe we should let the living Avvar take care of the dead ones,” Kate mused, still pressing her arms to her chest.

“You mean to let the Avvar go?” Cassandra asked, turning to her in surprise.

“They did surrender peacefully,” Harding said, nodding her head back at the hallway which led to the mire. “I think they were kind of glad we showed up, honestly.”

They were probably tired of living in a bog with the Hand of Korth as their leader, Kate thought.

“Haven has no good place to put prisoners,” Cullen agreed. “But let’s question them first. Gently, of course,” he added, casting a quick glance at Kate. He cleared his throat and turned to address the soldiers.

“Alright then,” he said. “Time to head back to camp, everyone. Make sure to stick together and _stay out of the water_.”

A chorus of ‘aye, ser, ‘and thank the Maker’ and even one ‘yes, dad,’ accompanied this. Lysette gave Kate another fierce hug and then headed out of the room after her troop. Kate smiled after the templar, then leaned heavily on her staff and let out a breath. She felt like she was about to fall over. Now that the laughter had died away, Kate was left feeling depleted and raw again.

“You sure you’re alright?”

Kate glanced up to see Cullen take a hesitant step toward her.

“Give me a moment and I will be,” she said, with a half-smile.

She assumed that he would leave her behind and follow the others, but he didn’t. Instead, Cullen took another step toward her, reaching up to rub the back of his soaked neck with his free hand. The movement drew his shirt across his muscles, and Kate quickly looked away.

“How’s your leg?” she asked. To her own ears, her voice sounded brittle and overly bright.

“My leg?” Cullen repeated, blinking down at himself. “Oh, my leg. Well, I’ve got teeth-marks in my best trousers and I’ll be sporting a rather strange-looking bruise for a couple weeks. Other than that, I’m fine.”

Kate chuckled. “Good thing you got to wear pants to this shield-reckoning,” she joked. “If Korth had wanted you in a loincloth, then where would you be?”

“I… What? A _loincloth_?” Cullen nearly choked on the words, and Kate then realized that probably sounded either really stupid or really inappropriate.

“Ah, I just mean…” she winced at her own awkwardness. “That was supposed to be a joke. Not very funny, I know.”

Cullen met her gaze, and in that moment, something lit up in his eyes. Kate didn’t quite know what it was, but it was warm and intense and Kate looked away almost at the same moment that Cullen did.

“W-we should probably follow everyone,” Kate said. She looked around at all the corpses.

“Maker, yes,” he agreed.

They headed out of the room and into the hallway, an awkward silence falling between them. As they reached the end of the hall, Cullen cleared his throat.

“So, um, about our, uh, conversation yesterday…” he began.

“Maker’s breath, not _now_ ,” Kate groaned.

Cullen looked over at her sharply just as Kate realized she’d said that out loud. She slapped a hand over her mouth, feeling a fool. For Cullen’s face showed a wounded expression before he turned away.

“Ah,” he muttered.

“I mean…” she corrected hastily, “We can talk about it. We probably _should_ talk about it. But not now?” She hadn’t meant for that to be a question, but it came out as one.

“Can we please talk about that later?” Kate asked instead. “I just want to spend an hour where you and I are both alive and on the same side.”

Cullen winced and hurt flashed through his eyes.

“I always thought we were on the same side,” he murmured, his voice rough. “But I suppose… Never mind.”

“No, that’s not what I meant!”

Maker’s breath, Kate thought wildly. How was it that with Cullen, everything turned out to be so much more complicated and confusing than she planned? The rain drizzled into the courtyard around them, and further down the path, the Inquisition soldiers were filing away into the gray mists of the mire. Cullen headed down the steps, away from Kate. Kate froze at the top, feeling a kind of panic steal over her.

“Cullen!” she cried after him.

For one awful moment, she thought he was going to leave her alone. He descended one more step, then stopped. Kate let out a sigh of relief. Then he turned on the spot, facing her, and Kate realized it was her turn to speak again.

Kate swallowed, unsure of what to say, unsure of how she ought to say it. Something had happened during that battle, something that went deeper than trust or reliance or any of the things that she and Cullen had talked about before going into the keep. Kate didn’t know what to call it. The Avvar probably had a name for it: battle-camaraderie or fight-friendship or some such. It wasn’t a link forged by polite nothings and small talk, but of real conflict - both the conflict they’d faced together and the conflict they’d weathered between them.

But Kate didn’t know what to call this sudden bond. She could scarcely even face it.

“Perhaps we should go with the others, Trevelyan,” Cullen suggested.

“Kate,” she blurted out.

Cullen frowned at her.

“It’s Kate,” she told him. She took a step closer, placing herself on the same stair as he.

“I want you to call me Kate,” she said, looking up at him.

“I… I’m not sure that’s proper protocol.”

“But after I yelled at you and you fought for me… I mean, for us…” Kate imagined she probably sounded like an idiot, so she stopped there.

“Please,” she said. “Please call me ‘Kate.’”

Cullen’s lips twitched, and then he looked up at her. Kate felt her breath hitch, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. His expression remained guarded for one moment more.

And then, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, the storm in Cullen’s eyes passed. Kate sucked in a breath, realizing that _this_ was rather like the ending of one of her novels. Here was the hero, bare-chested - or, well, nearly so. And here was the lady, and they both stood victorious and soaked in rain.

But Cullen’s eyes didn’t burn with lust in the way the novels talked about. Rather, he seemed to regard Kate with a mix of wariness and hope. Yet even as she watched, those emotions shifted again. Cullen now regarded Kate with a slight smile - and with something that looked an awful lot like respect. That, Kate decided, was an expression she valued far more than anything out of an Avvar romance. She wondered, honestly, how she’d managed to earn it, in spite of everything that had passed between them. She was certain she was looking at Cullen with a similar expression.

“You let me call you by your given name,” Kate went on, feeling breathless now, but feeling like she ought to say _something._ “It’s only fair that you should call me by mine. Besides, if you keep calling me ‘Trevelyan,’ it makes me think you mean my father and…”

She broke off, embarrassed by her own rambling.

“Please,” she said. “I’m just Kate.”

Cullen nodded, looked down, then looked back up at her through rain-spiked lashes.

“Alright then,” he said.

Cullen waved a hand at the stairs before them, Kate fell into step beside him. Then Cullen said, again, low and hesitantly, and very near to her ear:

“Alright then…Kate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter Credits](http://tumblr.sagefic.com/post/127085199179/chapter-25-credits-because-shirtless-cullen-is) (aka, all the fine people who inspired the avvar!Cullen/romancenovel!Cullen in this chapter)


	26. It's Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robert recalls impiety, and Cassandra recounts intrigue.
> 
> This chapter slightly NSFW (slightly).

“ _Kate_ …”

The slithering, echoing voice hissed in Robert’s mind.

“ _Tell me about Kate. Tell me what she’s like, how she…_ “

“Look,” Robert said, in a bored tone. “You don’t get to call her ‘Kate’. You’re no friend of hers - or mine.”

He pulled the bowstring back to his cheek, took aim, and let the arrow fly. It went directly into the target before him. The arrow hit dead center, splitting open the arrow that was already in the center of the target. There were a dozen arrows like that, each split open by the one that followed after in a most improbable fashion. Robert had never known arrows to do that in real life. But the rules seemed to work a bit differently in…wherever this place was: his mind, a dream world - Robert wasn’t quite sure. And he had never realized how fond he was of the real world’s rules until now. The rules of dream-space were incredibly tedious.

“ _I want to see_ …”

“Kate,” Robert interrupted, picking up another arrow from his ever-filled quiver. “Yes, I heard you the first hundred times. Or first thousand, rather. You’re a persistent bastard, I’ll give you that.”

Robert pulled the arrow back and let it fly. Another direct hit and another arrow split. So long as he was trapped, Robert figured he might as well get in some archery practice. He hoped the focus would translate to the real world, even if his muscles were probably atrophying out there in that cell. Or…in here, in _this_ cell. He was still in the cell, right? Maker, but this was confusing.

If only he knew for certain what he was dealing with, Robert thought, he might have a better time breaking free of these visions. He suspected that magic was involved. After all, this didn’t feel anything like being drunk, and Robert’s few experiments with elfroot had been significantly more pleasant than this. So, magic it was then. That meant he was being questioned by a demon or a blood mage. For his own sake, Robert dearly hoped for the latter. Mages were human, and humans had motivations that were understandable. Demons were less comprehensible.

Whatever the thing was, Robert was tired of its games. He had walked endless halls, run through misty forests, and all the while, he’d been haunted by this same hissing voice, the one that reminded him of oil on water. Robert had tried to resist, he really had, but the voice kept asking him to _think_ of things. And it was damn difficult to avoid thinking. If the voice said ‘think of Kate,’ Robert inevitably thought of his cousin. That was only natural, really. If somebody said, ‘think of pudding’ or ‘think of nugs,’ any normal person would do so. It was just how words and thoughts worked, after all.

In Robert’s experience, only two things could hold his focus for any length of time. And since he had no desire to show the demon/mage his naughty thoughts about women, he instead had resolved to put his mind to the task of archery practice. Sadly, even archery could only hold his attention so long.

But fortunately, he was boring the mage/demon, too.

“ _You are trying my patience,_ ” the voice hissed.

“Funny,” Robert replied. “I was about to say the same of you.”

“ _I can outlast you, though_ ,” the voice hissed, the sound seeming to come from everywhere and yet nowhere all at once. “ _You are frail, mortal - your life a mere breath. I will endure long after your bones have rotted into the stones_.”

 _Ah,_ Robert thought. So it _was_ a demon he was dealing with. He couldn’t imagine that any person - even a mage - would refer to someone else as ‘mortal’. Too bad for Robert, then.

“You obviously know nothing about the physical world,” Robert said, reaching for another arrow. “Bones don’t rot into stones. That’s just not how it works.”

Robert felt a rather childish spark of amusement when the demon snarled at him.

“ _I can survive anything_ ,” the demon told Robert. “ _But can you? How long do you think you can resist me, fool_?”

Robert didn’t want to answer that question. He would like to say he could resist forever, but, well, he probably couldn’t. Robert didn’t want to consider how long he had been trapped down here either. He wasn’t exactly in agony, but he was seriously beginning to doubt his sanity. And the issue of sustenance was worrisome. Typically, there was food and drink waiting when Robert returned back to his cell - or, well, _woke_ to his cell, rather. But that wasn’t always the case.

One morning, Robert had found himself in his cell - in ‘the real dungeon’ as he’d begun thinking of it. But he had been entirely alone. There had been no voices, no dreams, and no food. Robert had grown ever more panicky as the days dragged on. He could reach some rainwater than trickled down the wall. It was nasty stuff, but it kept him from dying of thirst. But the lack of food had nearly done him in. Then, as he was growing faint with hunger, food had suddenly appeared again. He’d eaten it eagerly. At the same time, he heard strange sounds overhead: a gate clanging open, boots marching on cobblestones.

And then, suddenly, fog had fallen over his vision. Robert had been stuck in this dream-space ever since.

“ _Show me Kate_ ,” the demon prodded. “ _Show me…_ “

 _Kate,_ Robert mused, before he could stop himself. Kate would know how to deal with this demon. Even before she’d gone off to the Circle, she’d always been better at listening to lessons than he had. She would have remembered… _Oh, blast._

The demon laughed hysterically as the scene shifted. Robert’s bow disappeared and he shrank - down to the height of an eight year old boy. He found himself seated at a desk in the Trevelyan House schoolroom. Before him was a great chalkboard, and behind it, a shelf of dusty books. To his right was a wide window. The heavy damask curtains were drawn back to display a sunny spring day. Robert felt a sudden longing to go out into the woods he spied beyond the rambling lawn.

 _Blast_ , Robert thought again. He was stuck inside, and on such a lovely day, too. Their tutor, a perpetually frazzled young man named Master Frederic, stood by the chalkboard. In his hand, he held a heavy tome: a leather-bound copy of all the canonical canticles. Robert hated that old book more than any other in the library. The tutor droned on and on, stopping only long enough to stifle a yawn. That yawn was echoed by someone to Robert’s left. When Robert turned his head, he found a familiar person sitting next to him at the large desk.

There was Kate, looking as she had when she was nine years old. She wore a fussy-looking dress, and kicked her feet impatiently as she stared out of the window. Her red hair was piled up on her head in a heavy style, and Robert recalled how she was forever threatening to cut the whole mess of it off as soon as mother allowed her to. Robert had encouraged Kate cut it without permission, but Kate was forever following rules. Robert thought that very stupid. She really ought to do what she wanted. She’d be a lot happier if she did.

“ _Yes…yes… Tell me more_.” the voice in his mind whispered.

The sound of the demon’s voice called Robert back to himself. This wasn’t real. This was just another vision. But damn it if he didn’t get lost in these memories every time. The room looked as it always had. Kate looked the same. Even the musty smell of the books was the same. It was little wonder Robert had such trouble separating reality from memory.

“ _Tell me more…_ ” the voice whispered again.

“Maker’s balls, demon,” Robert snapped. “Shut _up_.”

If Robert had really said such a thing aloud at the age of eight, Tutor Frederic would have sent Robert to his father’s office for certain. But as it was, the memory played out as if Robert hadn’t spoken. Tutor Frederic continued to drone on about demons and spirits and the Maker and the Fade, and then, out of the blue, Kate cocked her head to one side. She looked like a dog who’d heard a sharp whistle. She frowned, then stuck her hand straight up in the air.

Tutor Frederic continued on without stopping. Kate waved her hand around, as if it were a fish flopping on a line. Still, Frederic did not see her. Then, at last, Kate opened her mouth and said, primly:

“Tutor Frederic, if you please….”

Robert stifled a laugh. Even at the age of nine, Kate sounded like she was in training to become the Empress of Orlais. Or rather, Robert amended, she was in training to become a Trevelyan. That required an even greater degree of stuffiness. Tutor Frederic looked at her over the top of his book, then sighed.

“Yes, Mistress Kate?” he asked, wearily.

“You just said that there are spirits of wisdom,” Kate said, folding her hands in front of her on the desk.

“Ah, yes,” the tutor nodded.

“But just a moment ago, you read the passage that says all spirits are reflections of human emotions. Wisdom isn’t an emotion though. It’s just….thinking. And how can a spirit reflect thinking if it hasn’t got thoughts or a will of its own? That makes no sense.”

There were a _lot_ of things in the Chant of Light that made no sense, Robert thought to himself. But at the moment, he was rather astonished at the complexity of Kate’s question. Tutor Frederic looked a bit astonished as well.

“I…um. Well now,” the young man said. “Spirits reflect emotions, but also ideas. Yes, I think that’s right. I’m sure that’s what it says…later in here…” He began to flip through the book - headed for the commentary at the back, no doubt.

“Are you certain?” Kate asked, loftily, “Because that just raises another question.”

“I hesitate to ask what that question is,” Frederic muttered.

“I overheard one of the sisters the last time we were at the Chantry. She asked one of the mothers if there were spirits of spirits. Because if there are spirits for every idea, then shouldn’t there be a spirit for the idea of spirit? So there would be a spirit of, um, spirit-ness.”

Tutor Frederic cocked his head and stared at her. Robert did the same.

“The mother told the sister that such questions are impious,” Kate went on. “But I think she said that because she didn’t know the answer. It _is_ a good question, don’t you think? If there are spirits of everything, then there should be spirits of spirit. And then, I suppose,” she added, her brows furrowing, “there would be spirits of the _spirit_ of spirits. And then, well…that would go back a long way, wouldn’t it?”

“Uh….” Frederic said. “I don’t think it… In the commentary…”

“It’s not _in_ the commentary,” Kate said imperiously. “I looked.”

Of course she had, Robert thought. He knew most children were curious, but how many of them cared about the Fade or spirits or what the chant said? He certainly hadn’t. Kate’s curiosity bordered on the fiendish, really.

“ _Yes, yes,_ ” the the demon hissed at the back of Robert’s mind. “ _She was more clever than the teacher, more clever than you. You must have despised her for it._ “

“Despised her?” Robert said aloud. He looked up in confusion. Naturally, he saw nothing above his head but the plaster ceiling and the unlit chandelier. Beside him, Kate regarded Tutor Frederic with impatience.

“I know mother says that I shouldn’t question the Chant of Light,” Kate went on, “but it just doesn’t make much sense. I mean…”

“Much of this is allegorical speculation,” Tutor Frederic said, waving a hand dismissively at the tome. He then froze, as if realizing what he’d said - and wondering if the children would catch his mistake.

“Allegorical?” Kate repeated in wonder. “Really?”

Yes, Robert thought. At least one of them had known what ‘allegorical’ meant.

“I… No,” the poor tutor said. “I mean, we should return to our studies.” He flushed and began flipping through the book again.

Robert snorted. Now that he thought about it, Tutor Frederic’s influence was probably the reason that he and Kate had grown into such indifferent Andrastians.

“ _Yes,_ ” the voice in Robert’s mind hissed. “ _Kate questioned the Chant even then. Even then, she was a rebel._ “

“Questioning and rebellion are hardly the same thing,” Robert said, looking up at the ceiling once again.

“It can’t _all_ be allegorical,” Kate said after a moment’s thought. “The Fade is real enough.”

Frederic just snorted. “The best evidence of ‘The Fade’ - in quotes, mind you - is the dreams of mages. That’s hardly reproducible science, and ought not be convincing to the rest of us. The Fade can’t be seen or touched or tested. So far as _I’m_ concerned, it’s like speculating on the existence of the soul.”

“But you _can_ touch the Fade,” Kate had said, eagerly. “Well, sort of. It’s not here, like this desk.” She laid her hand on the table. “But it you sit still enough, you can almost feel the Veil. Well, not _feel_ it, feel it. It’s more like… I don’t know. A faint song, but with no music.”

“A song with no music,” Frederic said, pressing his fingers to his eyes. Robert didn’t quite hear the next words, but it might have been something like, “If only I’d gotten that fellowship…”

But Robert wasn’t really paying attention to Frederic. Instead, he stared at his cousin in astonishment. Kate had sensed the Veil, even then. None of them had realized it at the time, but she’d been part of another world - a world of magic. And no one had known about it but her.

“ _Yes, yes,_ ” the demon hissed at Robert’s mind. “ _She was strong with Fade-magic, even as a child. Was that why they chose her? Was that why they sent her? Who planned the counter-attack? Who did she work for?_ “

“What the _Void_ are you talking about, demon?” Robert snapped. But the demon did not answer. Instead, Tutor Frederic set down the heavy tome of the Chant with a sigh.

“Perhaps,” he said, wearily, “We should study something else.”

“ _She must have known,_ ” the demon chattered on in that oily voice. “ _She must have foreseen his plans. But how? He requires an answer. He’s sent me to find the answer…_ “

“You could tell us about dragons, Tutor Frederic,” Kate said, hesitantly, as if she was offering him an apology.

At that, the young man smiled, and his eyes sparked with sudden interest.

“I’d like to,” Frederic said. “But we’re supposed to study the Chant today.”

At this, Robert chimed in with the line he remembered as belonging to him:

“The Chant is boring,” he said, just as he had back when he was a child. “Let’s study dragons.”

This argument had always won out with Tutor Frederic. The young man glanced at the window, then nodded with relief:

“Alright. But let’s go on a walk while we talk. It’s too nice a day to be stuck inside.”

“Hooray!” Kate cried, nearly toppling her chair over in her excitement to get away from the desk.

And _this_ was why he’d had such an scattered sort of education, Robert thought. He’d learned his maths, of course - mostly in relation to calculating a dragon’s wing span or how much food a dragon would need to eat daily to survive - but beyond that, he’d done little as a child except read fanciful stories and play outside. When Kate had been around, that had been a great deal of fun. But when she left…

Robert turned and looked at Kate as she smiled at him - nine years old, but still with those impossibly changeable eyes. She could be perfectly serious one moment - asking questions about spirits of spirit, of all things - and then she’d be all jokes the next. Robert hadn’t quite thought about that before. Honestly, for all the time he spent with Kate, he realized that he had never really stopped to get to know her.

Well, he _knew_ her, Robert supposed. He knew his cousin as one knew the streets and shops of one’s hometown. But somehow, he hadn’t seen her clearly until a demon had landed in his mind and forced him to take a second look.

“Robert?” The nine-year-old Kate looked at him, smiling, and Robert suddenly decided he was done with this.

“No,” he said, shutting his eyes firmly.

He wasn’t going to think about Kate. He wasn’t going to get lost in these memories. It was just too painful.

“ _It pains you, does it?_ ” the demon-voice hissed gleefully. “ _Thinking on all the things she had that you never did - that you never could have._ “

“What?” Robert said, opening his eyes. When he looked around, he didn’t see the schoolroom or the desk or the shelves lined with books and dragon bones. Instead, Robert saw a murky darkness all around.

“ _You were jealous of your cousin, weren’t you?_ ” the voice hissed in his mind. “ _You wished to be as clever as she. You wanted the education of a Circle mage, you wanted the power she had…_ “

“Uh…no,” Robert said, now feeling rather confused.

“ _You wished you could be like her…_ “

“Be like Kate? Are you mad? I never wanted to be a mage.”

“ _You wanted her mind, wanted her magic._ “

“I’ve wanted a number of things in my life,” Robert admitted, “But being like my cousin is _not_ one of them.”

“ _When you remember Kate, you feel pain,_ ” the demon hissed. “ _You feel sick in your gut._ “

Robert couldn’t deny it, but the demon clearly didn’t understand.

“That’s not jealousy,” he said, feeling a bit stupid even as he spoke the words aloud. “It’s guilt.”

The demon made a strange sort of ‘harumph’ sound, out there in the darkness.

“Yes, demon,” Robert said, in exasperation. “I feel guilty. Alright? I feel guilty that I couldn’t keep Kate out of the Circle. I feel badly that I never wrote to her. But Maker’s arse, what was I supposed to say? I was always in trouble with her father or I was off with my friends or some woman… Well, anyhow, I was never doing anything worth writing about. And _her_ letters were always so damn long. I never knew what to say back.”

“ _You read those letters and then tossed them aside_ ,” the demon said. “ _You envied Kate’s life, Kate’s friends…_ “

“Not at _all_ ,” Robert snorted. “A bunch of fusty old mages in a tower? What’s to envy about…that…?” He trailed off, now feeling enormously stupid.

 _Maker’s breath,_ Robert thought. _Of course._

“You’re an envy demon,” he said aloud. “Aren’t you?”

There was a snarling sound in the darkness, and suddenly, snow started falling all around Robert. He now found himself standing in a mountain village. The air was cold, his breaths frosted, and the sky was crisp and blue overhead. It took Robert a moment to recognize it as Haven. The village looked just as it had that afternoon before he’d been captured. Even the smell of boiled cabbage and hot steel from the forge was the same.

“ _You must want someone’s life,_ ” the demon’s voice said, slithering in around Robert as if trying to settle down with the snow. “ _You must want what someone else has._ “

“And then what?” Robert snorted, turning around and around, trying to spot the source of the voice. “You’ll offer me that person’s life? All of me for the chance to be someone else?”

“ _I can do that, you know,_ ” the demon whispered, the voice in his ear now. Robert shivered from the near, low promise.

“That’s really not necessary, thanks,” he said hastily. “I’m fine as myself.”

“ _But you must envy someone,_ ” the voice whispered. “ _And I know who…_ “

“I don’t…”

“You envied _her_.”

Robert spun around, for this last statement was said with utter confidence. More than that, though, it was said with an accent that caught his ear and set his heart racing. Robert spun around to find a woman standing behind him. He let out a breath, and in spite of the cold, he felt like all his blood had caught fire.

“Cassandra,” he murmured.

And so it was. Or rather, Robert told himself with a swift inward shake, this was the demon masquerading as Cassandra. And for that reason, Robert wasn’t sure if this was an accurate picture of Cassandra, or just Cassandra as the demon saw her in Robert’s imagination. He couldn’t recall if her pants really had been that tight, or if he had simply wished they had been so. Nor could he recall if her eyes were really that piercing, or her skin that smooth and deeply tanned.

She was stunning, Robert thought. Even re-created by a demon, she was stunning.

“You want this,” the demon-Cassandra said. And for a moment, Robert opened his mouth to answer that yes, yes he wanted that - wanted _her_ far more than he’d realized. He’d wanted Cassandra that day, but after weeks of being alone and left in the dark, he’d do just about anything for a taste of her.

“Yes,” the demon said, stalking toward him. “You want this.”

And then, quite suddenly, Robert… _didn’t_. The demon-Cassandra walked like it had sticks of wood in its legs, not at all with Cassandra’s muscular, yet sensual stride. The demon-Cassandra’s voice was harder than Robert recalled, too. It had none of Cassandra’s strength or her grace. And suddenly, Robert found himself in the very strange position of looking at a very beautiful body - and yet not wanting it at all. After all, Cassandra wasn’t _inside_ of that body, and that somehow…mattered.

“You want this,” the demon-Cassandra said, stalking around Robert, behind him, and whispering in his ear. “You wanted her life, wanted what she had. She had a position of rank that you craved…”

“Wait, what?” Robert turned to blink at the demon wearing Cassandra’s face. “You think I…that I _envy_ Cassandra?”

Well of course it would think that, Robert realized. It was an envy demon. Jealousy was all it knew.

“You wanted her to teach you to become a Seeker,” the demon-Cassandra went on, in Cassandra’s borrowed accent. “You wanted her skills, her powers…”

Robert couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. And suddenly, the demon-Cassandra looked a bit confused.

“You… You wanted her life,” the demon-Cassandra insisted.

“I wanted to get out of becoming a templar,” Robert said, still half-laughing. “If I could have done that without becoming a Seeker, I would have.”

“But…” the demon-Cassandra said, and now, in this moment of uncertainty, it actually did sound a little like Cassandra. “She is the Right Hand of the Divine. She is respected, feared. She is a princess. Royalty.”

“She’s a _princess_?” Robert choked out. “Well. I always knew I had expensive taste, but damn…”

“She is more than you will ever be, more untouchable,” the demon-Cassandra’s tone grew hard once again. “Admit it. You envy her.”

“I do,” Robert said, and the demon responded by grinning.

“I envy the fact,” Robert said solemnly, “that Cassandra gets daily access to _that_ body. Anytime she likes, she can pull off that tunic and peel off those impossibly-tight trousers.” He wandered over to the demon-Cassandra and began to circle her. The demon stared back at him blankly. “I envy how she can tease those nipples any times she likes. That she can slide those hands down into…” Robert swallowed hard. “Demon, if I were Cassandra, I can tell you one thing. I would never have gotten around to becoming a Seeker. I don’t think I would bother to get that perfect ass out of the bedroll two days out of ten.”

The demon-Cassandra continued to stare at him. It didn’t protest in fury or blush, as the real Cassandra might have done. As Robert expected, it didn’t do anything at all but gape in confusion. Robert bit his lips to keep from laughing.

“But…you…” The demon said, slowly.

Now Robert really did start laughing.

“Well,” he said. “The Chant was right about at least one thing, I suppose. You demons really _don’t_ understand anything but the idea you embody.”

“You must envy _someone_ ,” the demon protested.

“No. I don’t,” Robert shrugged. “Not my vice, really. I’m a man of surprisingly little ambition.”

“You are still _weak_!” the demon growled at him, making Cassandra’s face look nearly inhuman with the motion. Robert drew back with a grimace.

“Well, yes,” he admitted. “If you were a desire demon, you’d have broken me a hundred times over by now. But the funny thing is - you’re not.”

Robert smirked, then cast the demon a cocky grin.

“How’s _that_ for jealousy, demon? If you were a desire demon, you’d have what you want already. But you’re not. Do you envy your fellow spirits now?”

Robert grinned at the demon, mirth dancing in this eyes. The demon-Cassandra stared back at him in astonished fury. Then, with a snarl, the demon-Cassandra launched itself at Robert. Robert threw his hands up before his face instinctively, to block the charge…

But nothing happened. When Robert dropped his hands, he found that Haven had disappeared. He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling of his cell again. His real-world cell. The demon was gone.

Maker’s breath, Robert thought. By now, he should have gotten used to these transitions, and yet, they always jarred him.

Still, Robert thought, a smile curling his lips, he’d gotten the demon for once. It was a short lived victory, and he might pay for it later, but it felt good to annoy the creature after all these weeks of fright. And even better? There was food waiting in his cell. It was a greasy stew - stone cold, but Robert couldn’t be picky. He needed to keep up his strength in case the chance for escape presented itself. And right now, on the heels of his small victory, that seemed like it might actually be a possibility.

But he would have to be careful, Robert told himself. For he’d survived today, but surely that demon would be back. And if the demon had found out about his interest in Cassandra…

No, Robert thought, shaking his head. There was no need to worry. The envy demon wasn’t a desire demon, so he was safe there. And beside, Robert assured himself, now that he was out of the confusing fog of the vision, he could see how foolish he’d been. He didn’t want Cassandra _that_ much. He had only met the woman once. So Cassandra couldn’t possibly be a weakness to him, Robert assured himself. After all, he barely knew her.

* * *

Cassandra stood beyond the light of the campfire, staring out into the rain. And instead of doing something useful - something like planning for the return to the Hinterlands or checking on the rescued soldiers, she was standing here just…

 _Brooding_ , Cassandra thought, with a curl of her lip. She was actually brooding. This had to be a new low. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to go back into that joyful mass of people at the camp.

This afternoon, there had been a victory. A blood mage was dead, the missing soldiers had been rescued, and the troops had returned to Fisher’s End without further incident. Now the small camp had swelled to half again its original size. Soldiers were packed side-to-side on felled logs around the campfire, sharing their rations. Laughter rang out above the general chatter and a few minutes ago, someone had started playing a fiddle. Maker only knew which optimistic person had packed such a thing into a swamp. But as the skies grew dark and the heavy rain settled into a light mist, the strains of a Ferelden jig trailed out into the mire.

And Cassandra felt as though each cheerful note fell flat in the mud at her feet.

She was glad to be alive, she reminded herself. Of course she was glad. And yet…

And yet, she thought, it was hard to celebrate such a small victory in the face of so much failure.

“Hey,” a voice said, softly. Cassandra turned to find the Herald approaching through the soggy grass. She had changed into clean, warm layers once again, though her reddish hair was still wet with rain.

“Your worship,” Cassandra said, stiffening.

“Kate,” the woman corrected. “Please, Cassandra.”

“Kate, then,” Cassandra said. “Did you need something?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Kate replied. “You seemed a bit…tense. Well, more so than usual. I mean… Are you well?”

Cassandra flinched as if the question burned.

“I’m fine,” she said, sharply. “Are you ready to leave?”

“I, uh,” Kate blinked. “ _Now_?”

She waved a hand at the sky as if to draw attention to the darkness and the rising moon, and Cassandra sighed with impatience.

“I suppose we can wait until morning,” Cassandra muttered.

“I think that would be best,” Kate replied. “Cullen plans to leave most of the soldiers here to follow after at their own pace. He offered to escort you and me and Vivienne back to Redcliffe.”

Kate glanced away at that, looking over her shoulder at the campfire. She then shook herself and added:

“Most of the captives were in worse shape than they want to admit. So it’s probably best that they travel slowly. Vivienne and I did what we could, but there’s only so much that magic can heal.”

“The rescued soldiers didn’t seem injured to me,” Cassandra said, frowning in concern.

“They weren’t,” Kate replied. “Not exactly. They were just exposed to the elements and fed nothing but coarse bread and moldy vegetables for weeks. I think indigestion is their worst ailment, honestly. Anyhow, what they need now is good food and bright music and for Harding to retell the tale of how we saved them.”

“How _we_ saved them?” Cassandra asked, her temper flaring once again. She spun away, scowling into the mire. “ _You_ saved them, not I. I just…”

She broke off there, frowning. Beside her, she heard Kate take a squelching step forward in the grass.

“Is that why you left the campfire?” she asked. “Because you don’t think you helped? But you _did_ help, Cassandra.”

“I did almost nothing,” Cassandra said, nearly spitting out the words in her frustration. “I had no plan, I fought poorly. I tried to threaten that blood mage into surrendering, and you saw how _that_ went. Thrown across the keep…”

Cassandra sputtered to a stop, embarrassed by the very memory.

“Did Widris hurt you?” Kate asked.

“Only my pride,” Cassandra bit out.

“That’s a wound I can’t heal then,” Kate said, smiling slightly.

To Cassandra’s annoyance - or perhaps it was her relief - the other woman sat down on a nearby boulder and placed her elbows on her knees. She clasped her hands before her and stared down at them. In the darkening light, the Herald’s mark glowed a faint green. Cassandra stared at the strange squiggle - somehow both physical and yet, entirely of another world.

“Pride is a strange muscle,” Kate murmured. “It gets torn so easily.”

“This is not about my pride,” Cassandra said. “This is about…about…” She waved a hand angrily.

“Why?” Cassandra snapped. “Why _you_?”

“Why me?” Kate asked, looking up at her. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you survive when no one else did?” Cassandra asked, the words tumbling from her mouth before she could stop them. “Why did _you_ live, and not the Divine?”

“Oh,” Kate said, looking back at her mark. “That.” She sighed and shrugged one shoulder. “I have no idea.”

“Why did any of us survive?” Cassandra went on. “Why you? Why me? Why _those_ soldiers, but not any of the others?”

She waved a hand at the distant campfire. “Yes, we saved these captives. We saved _six_ people today. And yet, how many did we risk in the process?”

“This was about protecting our own,” Kate reminded her. “About standing by the people who are fighting for us.”

“And what about the ones we failed to take care of? How many did we lose at Haven when the Conclave was destroyed?”

Kate sucked in a breath, then answered: “Two hundred and fifty-four dead. One hundred and sixty-eight unaccounted for.”

Cassandra turned to her in surprise.

Kate looked up at her with a sad sort of smile. “I read the casualty reports. I couldn’t remember all those names, so I decided to remember the numbers. It felt like a tribute somehow…”

She trailed off and shook her head.

“Yet you lost your cousin,” Cassandra said, frowning. “That’s one name you remember, I’m sure.”

On one level, Cassandra knew she shouldn’t remind Kate about that, but she couldn’t help it. She had to say it aloud. For Cassandra had mourned Robert Trevelyan. In a way, she was _still_ mourning him. That was part of why she was out here, on the edge of the mire. She couldn’t stand to look at those cheerful survivors when such a fine young man was dead.

It was foolish of her, but she would not lie to herself: Cassandra had fancied Robert. For just a few minutes, before the entire world had fallen apart, he had made her feel beautiful. It had been decades since a man had made her feel so _wanted_. When the Conclave had fallen, Robert had fought by her side. He had been like - well, not like her knight, exactly. He fought more like a brigand, but he was effective. And Cassandra had lost him on that mountain.

Yes, she had lost him - lost him like a dropped coin purse or a misplaced quill. Cassandra was supposed to be a bodyguard, and yet on that night, she hadn’t saved a single person from harm. Instead, she’d led Robert to his death.

She should have done more, Cassandra thought. She should have known there would be an attack. She ought to have set an escape route or placed more guards. Of course, Cassandra _had_ proposed such measures and the Divine and the Divine had refused every one of them. Still, Cassandra should have pushed harder.

“Cassandra?” Kate asked.

“I don’t usually feel this way,” Cassandra said, a bit flustered. “But it has been in my mind - wondering where it went wrong, wondering if I might have prevented it. I am convinced I could have stopped it, even as I also know there is no way I could have known what was coming.”

“I can understand that,” Kate said, nodding. “It’s easier to blame yourself. If you can blame yourself, then you don’t have to admit that the entire thing was out of your control from the start. Like when Ostwick fell and Lydia…”

She broke off there. Cassandra had no idea who this ‘Lydia’ was, but she nodded in agreement.

“Yes,” Cassandra said, “That is it. Blame is an easier action than patience. Guilt is easier to bear than helplessness.”

“Yes,” Kate said, softly. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll admit that I’ve felt the same - and I’ve borne it a lot less gracefully than you have. Truth be told, for a while there, I cried myself to sleep each night.”

“Yes, I know,” Cassandra replied. “I heard you.”

“Oh, right,” Kate said. She blushed, then muttered, “Damn tents.”

For some reason, this made Cassandra chuckle. She shook her head and waved a hand.

“I am no good at this,” Cassandra admitted. “I am no good at sorrow and guilt and waiting for answers. I see what must be done, and I do it. That is who I am. But here? With this hole in the sky and the Chantry at war with itself? I do not see a clear path, and so I cannot move. I do not know how to close the breach. I do not know who attacked the Conclave. I couldn’t save the people there - people like your cousin…” She trailed off and shook her head. “I couldn’t even reason with the Lord Seeker in Val Royeaux. I just feel…” She waved a hand. “I cannot think of a word for it…”

“Overwhelmed?” Kate suggested.

“Yes, overwhelmed. That is it,” Cassandra agreed.

“Me too,” Kate admitted. She let out a breath, then added, “Maker, it feels good to say that aloud. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I suppose,” Cassandra said, glancing sideways at her. “But you… Look at you.”

“Look at me?” Kate asked, glancing down at herself.

“You were accused,” Cassandra said. “Yet you agreed to help. You were told you might die if you tried to close the breach, and yet you fought your way to the temple. You were told you would be attacked if you went to Val Royeaux - and yet you sailed there anyway.”

“After whining about it first and throwing ice all over the war table,” Kate said, wryly. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

“But you have _done_ things,” Cassandra insisted. “You choose a direction and you marched. I did not. I have done nothing but…stand about feeling very confused.”

“You’ve been fighting like a whirlwind,” Kate replied.

“It is kind of you to say so,” Cassandra said, flatly.

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” Kate told her. “You started this Inquisition, didn’t you? You declared it, you got everyone in place.”

Cassandra shook her head. “It has taken far too long. The Divine showed me the writ nearly twenty years ago. And yet, it has taken all this time to see the Inquisition come to life.”

“Wait, what?” Kate said, blinking at her. “What do you mean by ‘twenty years ago’?”

“The day I was named Divine Beatrix’s right hand, she showed me a writ. It was the draft that would become the declaration of the Inquisition.”

Kate gaped at Cassandra in astonishment. “But I thought the Inquisition was a backup plan. In response to Kirkwall. In response to the mage rebellion.”

Cassandra shook her head. “No. Nineteen years ago, Divine Beatrix was almost killed by a plot involving both blood mages and rogue templars. I aided in stopping them, but it revealed that there were dangerous factions in the Circles. She feared it would eventually boil over into open war.”

“She was right about that,” Kate said, absently.

“The Inquisition was to be her answer,” Cassandra went on.

“Her answer took _twenty years_ to see the light of day?”

Cassandra drew back with a frown. It was hard to say this, but she supposed the Herald of Andraste ought to know the truth of the matter.

“Yes,” Cassandra said, tightly. “The Inquisition was supposed to be just as it’s name implies: a inquiry - a questioning of the Order, of the Circles. Beatrix hoped to ferret out the root cause of the unrest between templars and mages.”

“The root cause?” Kate asked, incredulous. “Isn’t it obvious? You have prisoners on one side, and jailers on the other. It’s not really all that complicated.”

Cassandra shook her head. A mage would see it that simply, Cassandra thought. And in some ways, the mage would be right. Yet it seemed to Cassandra that Kate could not fully understand the factions that had hidden within the Circles, nor could she know the scope of the Divine’s plans.

“An Inquisition would have dug out the very heart of the Chantry,” Cassandra said. “It may have found the source of unrest, but it would also have razed the Chantry to the ground.”

“I suspect Beatrix was not ready to tear down the institution that empowered her,” Kate said, dryly.

“It was not that,” Cassandra said, shaking her head. “I believe she truly did wish to set things right, but…”

“But?” Kate prompted.

Cassandra hesitated. She regretting saying this much, and yet, she somehow wished to go on. She realized that she _wanted_ to speak of this with someone. Even Leliana, who knew more than anyone else, did not fully understand what had happened back then.

“It feels disloyal to say it,” Cassandra said, frowning at the memory. “But Beatrix failed. She took the writ, drafted it into the book that now rests on the war table at Haven, and then… Then she did nothing.”

“But why?” Kate asked.

“I wondered that myself,” Cassandra said. “For years, it seemed that we - that _I_ was doing something. Gaylan…that is, the First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle, and I traveled Thedas together. We visited the Circles, investigating them and looking for signs of sedition.”

“Really?” Kate said, cocking her head. “A Seeker traveling with a mage to root out rebellion? That’s…unusual.”

“Er, yes,” Cassandra said. “I was busy with, um, that. When I returned to Beatrix’s side, her zeal for the Inquisition had waned. She said that she had turned the reigns over to Lord Seeker Lambert. He was taking care of things, she told me, and she had other tasks for me to complete. I did not think to question this.”

“But the Seekers did nothing,” Kate said, watching Cassandra closely.

“Worse than nothing, I suspect,” Cassandra said, softly. “I… No, I should not say such things. It is rumor and hearsay.”

“What rumors?” Kate asked.

Cassandra looked at her hesitantly, and the Herald held up her hands and shook her head.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Always asking questions. It’s a terrible habit. I’m just very curious. You see, from where I stand, the Chantry always seemed so - I don’t know - monolithic. It’s this huge entity, templars and Seekers, all deciding the fates of mages. I guess I never really thought about the people at the top, and how they’re just…people.”

“Good people,” Cassandra said. “But flawed, as we all are. We did try our best. But we made mistakes and then…” She sighed and shook her head. “How many are still paying for it, I wonder?”

“Too many.” Kate replied, her tone cold.

“You disapprove of what we did,” Cassandra observed.

“I disapprove of a lot of things,” Kate murmured, staring out into the mist. “But I had that luxury. Honestly? It wasn’t like I did anything to help the mages either.” She sighed, then turned back to Cassandra.

“So,” Kate said. “What you’re saying is, the Inquisition might have been formed a long time ago, except for the interference of the Seekers?”

“Not only them,” Cassandra said, shaking her head. “Divine Beatrix…” She trailed off with a heavy sigh.

“I hate to speak ill of her,” Cassandra said. “She was my mentor and my friend.”

Cassandra straightened and decided to tell Kate the truth. It wasn’t as if it couldn’t be found in the history books anyhow.

“Divine Beatrix succumbed to dementia. By the time she died, she had failed to be lucid for a long time.”

“Oh,” Kate said, her face falling. “Oh, I see. How awful.”

“It _was_ awful,” Cassandra agreed, harshly. “To watch a woman you admire lose her own mind. To realize that the absent stares and seeming forgetfulness were a sickness that I never saw coming. Now that I look back, I see she was ill for a long, long time. On the one hand, I admire that she fought her sessions of forgetfulness. But on the other hand, her pride may have doomed us. She did not tell us - tell me - until the symptoms were obvious. Even then, she would not abdicate. She would not let me act for her. She would not do anything. It was infuriating.”

“No wonder you don’t like feeling stuck,” Kate murmured.

Cassandra turned away from that comment. It hit just a little too close to the truth for her comfort.

“It was a great relief when Divine Justinia took charge,” Cassandra went on. “I met her and thought ‘Finally! _Here_ is a woman who will act.”

“But she didn’t,” Kate said, frowning. “Not for a long while, anyhow.”

Cassandra chuckled and shook her head. “Oh, she acted. In the timeline of the Chantry, Justina was hasty to a reckless degree. She resurrected the plans for the Inquisition, and began to argue with the Seekers. She pushed and prodded and had Leliana and I instigate all sorts of intrigues. Well, the intrigues were mostly Leliana’s doing, but we were busy in those years. Justinia was hated at every turn, and Leliana and I admired her greatly for it. Justinia pushed just hard enough to get people moving, but not to knock them over. And then, when the world fell into chaos - as it was bound to - she stepped up and took responsibility for it. Justinia made mistakes. But she also tried to set things right. She set a course for Haven and… Well,” Cassandra shrugged. “You know the rest.”

“Some of the rest,” Kate said. “I don’t remember the Conclave. I wish I did.” She paused, then added, “I wish I could have met her. Justinia, I mean.”

“She would have liked you, I think,” Cassandra said.

“Because I’m sent by Andraste?” Kate asked, her nose wrinkling.

“Because you’re trying to set things right.”

“Oh,” Kate blinked. The woman said nothing more to that, and Cassandra studied her a long moment before asking:

“You do not believe you were chosen by Andraste, do you?”

“Not really,” Kate replied, apologetically.

“Does that mean you do not believe in the Maker?” Cassandra wanted to know.

“That would be the ultimate blow, wouldn’t it?” Kate said, her eyes glinting with humor. “An unbelieving Herald?”

“So you don’t believe,” Cassandra frowned. How disappointing.

“No, I believe in the Maker,” Kate said. “I don’t quite believe all of the Chantry accounts of His wrath and hate. But I believe in a Creator behind the worlds of Thedas and the Fade. I believe we’re His children and ought to treat one another as such. And I believe Andraste understood the Maker better than anyone else. I’m not sure if I believe she became his _bride_ , though,” Kate added, wrinkling her nose, “Not literally, since that just raises a bunch of weird questions about spiritual copulation, but yes,” she went on, as Cassandra’s brows raised high, “To answer your question, I believe in the Maker and that he guides us and takes an interest in us.”

Kate paused and looked at her hand. “Not sure if _this_ is proof of that, though.”

“But in a sense,” Cassandra said, “That mark fell to you. You might be chosen after all.”

“Maybe,” Kate said, frowning. “But I’d rather earn my place in your Inquisition than be handed it because of the mark.”

“Ah,” Cassandra said. “And _that_ is why I find that I am willing to follow you - even if you _do_ plan your attacks based off of Portia Plume novels.”

“Oh, Maker,” Kate laughed, burying her face in her hands. “That’s right.”

“You’d forgotten already?”

“I’ve been trying to ignore the fact that we marched on a plan that I plagiarized from a bad romance novel.”

“It wasn’t a bad novel,” Cassandra protested.

“But it wasn’t exactly classic literature, either,” Kate returned.

“Does it need to be?” Cassandra asked.

“Well, _no_ ,” Kate admitted. “I guess a good read is a good read no matter what the subject matter is. Just, don’t tell Cullen - or anyone else, alright? I think it might tarnish my ‘sent by the Maker’ image if they knew what kind of books I’ve been reading in my spare time. And we wouldn’t want that.”

“Of course not,” Cassandra said, chuckling.

Kate smiled back at her, and then said, slyly, “So… You’ve read Portia Plume, too?”

“Um…” Cassandra blushed. “On occasion.”

“Got any other authors to recommend?” Kate asked, hopefully.

Cassandra opened her mouth to protest that no, no she most certainly did not. But then, she caught herself. For once, she didn’t have to pretend that she didn’t read books like that. After all, Kate would tell no one. The Herald of Andraste and the Seeker of Truth could share this little secret. So instead, Cassandra nodded and smiled.

“As a matter of fact,” she said, “I do…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Cassandra's claims about Divine Beatrix III, this is based on canon, with my speculations added in. [This is my (admittedly long) tumblr post](http://tumblr.sagefic.com/post/151410422464/the-inquisition-is-20-years-late) on the lore involved here.


	27. Common Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate and Cullen go off script

Kate wasn't proud of the fact that she'd been avoiding Cullen. But truth be told, she had been avoiding Cullen.

It wasn't entirely her fault, Kate told herself, as she hiked along. She and Cullen hadn't been able to speak privately - not in the Mire, nor on the long journey back to the Hinterlands. Judging by the way that Cullen had glanced over at Kate all last night and all day today, it seemed that he was itching to talk with her. Or maybe he was nervously waiting for her to lose her temper again. It was hard to tell with Cullen. Either way, Kate was itching to talk to him, too...

With that thought, Kate came to a stop at the top of a rise. Before her lay the Master Dennet's farm. In the light of the setting sun, the huts and barns took on a golden glow, and several large druffalo stood grazing in the long grass. For one moment, Kate enjoyed the peaceful scene. Then Cullen came striding to a halt beside her, and Kate's breath seemed to stride to a halt as well.

Such a foolish reaction, Kate thought. She was just standing there. She hadn't done anything wrong. Kate realized that Cullen was looking at her once again - expecting her to say something, probably. So Kate took a deep breath to compose herself, then cleared her throat and said:

"It's a fine day, don't you think?"

She was speaking of the weather. How predictable. Still, it was a start. Cullen nodded and said: "The roads were mercifully dry."

A few scouts went stomping past them and Kate couldn’t think of anything else to add to that. Kate thought a moment more, then offered:

“You know, a week ago, this place seemed very wild to me. But after spending a few days in the Fallow Mire, the Hinterlands seem like Val Royeaux by comparison.”

No sooner had Kate spoken than one of the druffalo lifted its tail and an enormous pile of droppings fell from its behind. Each turd was as large as a brick.

“Quite cosmopolitan,” Cullen agreed, dryly.

Kate laughed. Or rather, she made a ghastly snort, sounding rather like a druffalo herself. Cullen looked at Kate in amusement, let out a single, surprised laugh, and then frowned and fell silent. Kate swallowed at once, and stared down at the toes of her boots.

And now they were back to the awkward tension. Wonderful.

The bulk of hiking party caught up with Kate and Cullen just then. The soldiers looked a bit red in the face and winded. Vivienne strode up to Kate’s side, her face glistening with perspiration. The enchantress stamped her mage’s staff into the road as if claiming the spot with a flag. She took one sharp breath and wrinkled her nose.

“Charming,” Vivienne pronounced, in a tone that indicated she thought the farms were anything but. She looked at the pile of druffalo droppings, then over to the crossroads. A large tree spread its leafy branches over the road, and dappled shadows played over the dust and muck alike.

“I do hope the Inquisition camp is upwind of this place?” she asked.

“The camp is down the hill and past the stream,” Cassandra said, not breaking stride as she continued along the trail. “I will show you.”

“Lovely,” Vivienne replied. She closed her eyes briefly, probably bracing herself against the smell, and continued on. The scouts followed after. Cullen adjusted his pack, as if to continue on as well. Kate swallowed.

This was her chance.

“I’m going to go check with Master Dennet about the horses,” she announced. “Cullen, could you please accompany me? While I am familiar with horses, I may need your professional opinion when it comes to their military use.”

“What?” Cullen blinked at her. “I, er, yes, I suppose…”

Better and better, Kate thought wryly. That invitation had come off about as casual as a Orlesian funeral. But at least she’d found a reasonable excuse to get Cullen alone. Not that she wanted him alone for any other reason than to get things cleared up, she assured herself.

Cullen nodded toward the barns. “Shall we?” he asked, taking a step in that direction.

“Actually…” Kate said. She glanced down the road at the retreating backs of the scouts. Cullen turned to her with a raised brow.

“Actually,” she said, steeling herself. “I wanted to speak to you privately.”

* * *

“Ah,” Cullen said, softly.

 _Well then_ , he thought. _Here it comes._

He had begun to wonder when - or if - Kate would try to speak to him about their argument in the mire. After a full day of silence on the trail, he had begun to think that perhaps she planned to avoid him entirely. But now it seemed she had simply been waiting for the proper opportunity to corner him. From a tactical point of view, Cullen had to admit that it was very neatly done. From a personal point of view, however, Cullen felt himself growing decidedly uneasy at the thought of being cornered by Kate at all.

Strange though, how easily he’d come to call her ‘Kate,’ Cullen mused. The familiarity was perfectly acceptable, he assured himself. He referred to most of his associates by their given names, after all. And if Kate was comfortable with such an intimacy - er, informality, rather - then Cullen was fine with it, too. He only wished they could settle this lingering tension between them as easily as they had settled upon their titles.

The last few days had left Cullen feeling decidedly off-kilter. Arguing with Kate had been awful. Leaving that argument to fester had almost been worse. But more than that, the battle in the mire had left Cullen feeling shaken. When Kate had killed Widris in a flash of bloody ice, Cullen had been stunned. He hadn’t any idea that she could _do_ something like…whatever that spell had been. He’d felt dizzy with relief and immensely proud of her and utterly exhausted as well. And in the middle of all that, Cullen had looked over at Kate and realized that she had gone deathly pale.

Cullen knew that look. Green soldiers frequently went into shock after their first battles. And so, Cullen had reacted instinctively. He had rushed to Kate’s side, drawing her into a soldierly sort of embrace. It was what he would have done for anyone in similar circumstances, he assured himself. He certainly hadn’t meant anything untoward by it. He hadn’t even held her for more than a second or two.

But then, when he let go of her, something had happened. Cullen hadn’t realized how cold he was until Kate was no longer warm against his chest. He hadn’t realized that his arms felt weak from exertion until she was no longer within the circle of them. And strangest of all, Cullen felt like something - some fragile, fluid _thing_ that he hadn’t even known he had in him - had gotten all tangled up in that embrace. When Cullen had pulled away from Kate, that something had unfurled from him like a thread.

It made no sense at all, Cullen thought, and neither did what had followed after. A minute later, he had stood with Kate, alone in the ebbing storm. And in that moment - Maker, he still recalled it with perfect clarity. The rain had soaked her shirt, molding the fabric to curves that were hers and contours that came from her corset beneath. Her hair had made a dark frame around her face, her lips had trembled slightly from the cold. And in that moment, Cullen had the sudden impulse…

 _No._ He caught himself there. It had been an impulse, and he’d quickly put it from his mind. He’d put it from his mind several times now, in fact. This time, he hoped such thoughts would stay put. He had decided to look upon Kate as a colleague of sorts. True, she was a colleague that he didn’t get along with very well at present, but such thoughts had no place in that kind of arrangement.

And considering that Kate was his colleague, Cullen had a very simple goal at present: he needed to get to the point where he and Kate could work together without further incident. The soldiers were bound to notice any hostility among the leaders of the Inquisition. It would damage morale if the troops thought that the commander and the Herald could not get along. To that end, Cullen would do well to approach this like any other ceasefire.

“Very well,” he said, turning to Kate. “Did you want to take a walk around the farms, or…?”

“After today’s hike, I think I’d rather sit.” Kate matched his business-like demeanor with her own.

“Alright,” Cullen replied.

Kate shrugged off her pack and headed for the nearby stone wall. When she reached it, she set down her pack and practically collapsed beside the road. She placed her back to the wall and stretched her legs out in front of her. She let out a moan and Cullen found himself responding to that sound in a most unwelcome way.

To cover his reaction, and because it looked like Kate wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, Cullen walked over to the stone wall as well. Behind it, an old, gnarled tree shaded the crossroads in an umbrella of green and gold leaves. Cullen took off his pack, then sat down in the same posture as Kate. The moment his legs were stretched out into the road before him, he, too, let out a moan. That really was such a relief after all the walking.

“How far did we travel today?” Kate asked him, her words were conversational, though her tone was stilted. “I feel as if we ought to have crossed into Orlais by now.”

Cullen highly doubted that Kate had pulled him aside to quiz him on geography, but he answered her all the same.

“Twenty miles,” he told her. “And that road does cross into Orlais, incidentally. Scout Harding found it. It’s an ancient elven highway. Or Tevinter, maybe.”

“One of the two, surely,” Kate said, smiling a little. “Everything old in Thedas is either elven or Tevene.”

“Yes,” Cullen chuckled. “At any rate, we now have a road through the Frostbacks that doesn’t go over the major passes.”

“Huzzah for Scout Harding,” Kate said.

“Hear, hear,” Cullen agreed.

Kate smiled, and Cullen looked away quickly. He didn’t need to see smiles like that when things were likely to get very uncomfortable in a moment or two.

“So,” he said, a bit more sharply than he meant to. “You wanted to speak to me.”

“I do,” Kate replied. She answered in so business-like a fashion, Cullen guessed that she was as ready to set aside pleasantries as he was. “I ought to have done so before, but the scouts…”

“Understood,” Cullen nodded. Yes, that would explain why she’d avoided him. He supposed he was lucky that no one had overheard their original argument.

Beside him, Kate withdrew a piece of paper from her pocket and began to unfold it.

“What’s that?” Cullen asked her.

“It’s my list,” Kate replied.

“Your list?”

“My list of what I mean to say to you. I have a great deal on my mind, naturally. It seemed prudent to write it all down so that I didn’t wander off topic again.”

“You have a _list_?”

“I do,” Kate said, primly.

Sweet Andraste, Cullen thought. This was so much worse than he had thought. True, their conversation in the mire had been nothing short of disastrous, but did Kate really need a script in order to speak to him? Cullen knew he could be a bit short in his dealings with people, but he hadn’t thought he came off as quite _that_ rigid.

“That’s a lot of notes,” Cullen observed.

From here, he could see that Kate’s writing was large and rounded. It slanted along the paper as if her hand had scrambled to keep up with her brain. Cullen could not decipher a word of it.

“I grouped my thoughts into three main categories,” Kate informed him. “And I’ll try to make it brief. I assume you’re busy, and I don’t want to take too much of your time.”

Maker save him, Cullen thought. She must think him the most inflexible humbug in all of Thedas.

“I will make time for this,” Cullen informed her. Unfortunately, he came off sounding stern, which hardly helped his cause.

“I don’t suppose you’d allow me to read your agenda?” Cullen asked her. “Just so I know what I’m in for.”

“I suppose,” Kate replied. “I don’t know if it will make much sense to you, though.”

Kate handed the paper over. Cullen took it, straightened the folds and read. He didn’t get far before he frowned.

”‘Thank moredock?’”

“That’s ‘thanks,’ ‘mire,’ and ‘dock,’” she corrected.

“Apo…plexy? Partwhole? I don’t… How can you read this?”

”‘Part,’ dash, ‘whole,’” Kate said, pointing. “I guess the dash sort of ran together with the ’t.‘”

Cullen continued down the list, finding each word made less sense than the last. Was that supposed to be ‘templars’, he wondered? She’d written ‘tempters.’ And he had no idea what she meant by ‘Heraldraste.’ This wasn’t a list so much as a string of completely unrelated words, half of which were crossed out. If this was an agenda, it was like nothing Cullen had ever seen. The only encouraging item was a hastily scribbled ‘find some common ground ??’ at the very end. At least _that_ was not crossed out, Cullen thought.

“Maker, and I thought Rylen’s handwriting was bad,” he murmured.

Kate snatched the paper back from him.

“I scribbled this down by moonlight,” she informed him. “And I was in a hurry to get to bed. I may have neglected to use my best penmanship.”

“You wrote this out last night?” he asked.

“I did,” Kate sniffed, setting the paper out before her once again. “I wanted to be prepared this time.”

“What, really?”

“Well, yes,” Kate said, flushing a little. “The last time we spoke, I went rushing in with no organization, no thesis statement…”

“Thesis statement?” Cullen’s brows rose.

“I knew I wanted to speak to you about Kirkwall,” Kate explained. “I had heard all sorts of awful rumors. And then with the things Varric told me…”

Of course it all went back to Varric’s stupid book, Cullen thought. He wondered if he would ever live that down.

“I planned to ask you the truth of the matter,” she went on. “I really did. It was all supposed to be very professional and rational and mature.”

Cullen glanced over at Kate, trying to gauge her expression. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to be amused at her supercilious tone or frustrated by the thought that she had planned to corner him about Kirkwall from the start. Either way, he realized that he never could have avoided an interrogation about Kirkwall. He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

“So you made a list,” he said.

“Yes, I made a list,” Kate said. “It’s not all that strange, is it?”

It was a little strange, Cullen thought. He didn’t say that, however. But Kate apparently read his expression. Her brows drew together and the corners of her mouth tightened, leaving the center of her mouth in a pursed sort of pout.

“Alright, maybe it _is_ a bit strange,” she said, tightly. “Please indulge my Circle mage foibles. I’m not used to arguing with handsome templars or smoothing things over after. I need some notes, alright?”

Cullen blinked at her in astonishment.

“H-handsome?” he managed, before his throat felt like it entirely seized up.

Kate’s eyes widened briefly before she looked down at her list.

“Hence my need for notes,” she muttered. “Maker. And I’m the one they sent to the Conclave as a delegate…”

She trailed off and pretended to study the paper with great interest. Even with her face averted, however, Cullen could see that her cheeks had turned a deep crimson.

Cullen swallowed, fighting a smile and another feeling besides. He wanted to tell Kate that he was the last man in the world to judge someone for misspeaking. However, he was so flustered by the compliment, that he couldn’t say anything at all. He had occasionally endured flattery in the past, and it always reminded Cullen of a hook with a line attached. This, however, left him feeling pleasantly warmed. But Kate evidently had meant nothing by it, for she was trying to regain her composure and pretend like it hadn’t happened. She snapped the list out before her and read in her crisp, aristocratic accent:

“Item one: thanks.”

 _Thanks? For what?_ Cullen wondered. Maybe she was being sarcastic. But when he turned his head, he saw no signs of mockery. Kate was a bit red in the face, but that was all.

“Oh yes,” she said, nodding at her notes. “I wanted to say ‘thank you’ for the fight in the mire. Not our argument, I mean. I wanted to thank you for all that you did for the lost soldiers.”

“I was just doing my job,” Cullen told her, feeling uncomfortable with this first item already.

“Well, I’ve never done anything like raiding a keep before,” Kate informed him. “It was horrible and frightening and… Well, I’m sure it would have been far worse without you there. So thank you.”

She sounded like she was addressing a lecture to a classroom, Cullen thought, for all that she was sitting in the dust beside a country road.

”‘Docks,’” she read. “Oh yes. I wanted to thank you for that time we spoke by the dock in Haven. I’m not sure if you recall, but the morning before I left for the Hinterlands, I was very upset about losing my cousin, Robert. You were very kind to me, and I wanted to thank you for it. So: thank you.”

Even though she said this in short, terse statements, Cullen found himself touched by her gratitude. He hadn’t thought Kate remembered that morning.

“It was nothing,” Cullen told her.

“To you, maybe,” she replied. “I was overwhelmed and grieving and it meant a great deal to me.”

She said this in the same way she might say, “I was on my way to the scout camp when I stopped to pick some elfroot.” And here Cullen had been worried that this conversation might become somewhat unprofessional. If anything, it was uncomfortably impersonal.

“Item two,” Kate went on, crisply. “Apology. I owe you one.”

“I…oh.”

Cullen had _not_ expected an apology. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected of this conversation, really, but he certainly had not expected that. He wasn’t even sure what she was apologizing for.

“I have several sub points here, naturally,” Kate went on.

“Naturally,” Cullen murmured. He supposed he was about to find out.

“Now, at the conclusion of our argument, you said that I wasn’t Andraste, and that I had no right to judge you.”

Cullen cringed to hear his words spoken aloud.

“I only meant… I was angry then.” Maker’s breath. It sounded like _he_ should be doing the apologizing when she put it like that. Maybe that was her point, he thought, the suspicion beginning to form in his mind.

“Well, you were right,” Kate said, with a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m not Andraste. Thank the Maker for that. Furthermore, I’m not your superior officer or commander or whatever. I’m not your subordinate, either. In fact, I’m not sure what I am to you…”

Cullen swallowed. He didn’t know either, and he was _not_ about to follow that line of thought right now.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is,” Kate went on, “I am certainly entitled to my opinion, but it was out of line for me to offer it in the manner that I did. Additionally, my appraisal - the one I ought to have kept to myself in the first place - was clouded by anger and mired in multiple logical errors.”

“Er…Logical errors?”

“Exactly,” Kate said, grimly, “Makes it all the more embarrassing. I do try to be clear in my reasoning, you know. But anger and exhaustion render me a bit more…”

“Human?” Cullen suggested.

Kate blinked. “Just so.” She shifted uncomfortably at that, then looked to her list.

“Rumors,” she read. “I owe you an apology for relying overmuch on rumor and hearsay when accusing you. I had intended to hear your side of the story and add that to my understanding of what happened in Kirkwall. In failing to do so, I did not commit a logical error per se, but it was nothing like quality research. Even Varric’s testimony is not an infallible source.”

“It’s not,” Cullen told her firmly. He was relieved to hear that she saw that Varric was not the most reliable of narrators.

“He does speak well of you, you know,” Kate told Cullen. “So does Cassandra, come to that.”

“You asked Cassandra about me?” Cullen asked, stunned to hear it. Kate blushed a little, but she nodded.

“We were speaking about Avvar novels…er, about the mission. The conversation turned to how well things had gone, and from there to how well you had done in taking down that Korth fellow. I happened to ask Cassandra how she came to recruit you for the Inquisition. In addition to telling me the story, she said - and I quote: ‘Cullen is the most principled man you will ever meet.’”

Kate said this with a reasonably accurate rendition of Cassandra’s Nevarran accent. Cullen felt quite flattered by the compliment. Cassandra was not one to mince words.

“While Cassandra is undoubtedly more sympathetic to the templar Order than I am,” Kate went on, “I value her opinion. And both she and Varric believe that what you did for Kirkwall speaks highly of you.”

“And yet, you don’t,” he said, watching her closely.

“I didn’t say that,” Kate said, not meeting his eye. “It says something.”

“Something,” he repeated.

“Alright. More than something. It’s…remarkable.”

Cullen snorted, “High praise, indeed.”

“Well, it followed nine years of serving Meredith and helping her rise to power in the first place,” Kate said, snappishly. “What do you want me to say? ‘Yes, well done for the turning point. Wish it had come a bit sooner.’ Next item: the part-whole fallacy.”

Cullen opened his mouth to protest. But before he could say anything, Kate continued on:

“Now, the part-whole fallacy,” Kate told him, “occurs when one assumes that an attribute of one part of a group is also an attribute of the whole of the group, or visa versa.”

“I’m familiar with the concept,” Cullen said, annoyed at her teacherly tone. “The Circles have libraries, you know.”

“Oh,” Kate said blinking. “Well, that makes this easier. Though logic textbooks are hardly a common choice of reading material.”

“I’m a singular man,” Cullen drawled. Kate looked at him briefly, then flushed and looked back to her list.

“So, the part-whole fallacy, is it?” he asked, when she did not go on. “I can only assume that you mean to argue that the templar Order is is wrong to imprison all mages simply because a few of them resort to blood magic. And that’s not the point of the Circles, is it? The point is to train mages, and to protect them from possession. Possession is a danger for all of them.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed at once. “Of course you would completely overlook the fact that you have to _deal_ with a demon in order for said possession to take place. Thus, it remains an instance of the part-whole fallacy, because of the introduction of that variable.”

“And yet…” Cullen began, but Kate spoke over him.

“You have one attribute - namely, the potential for possession - and that applies to all mages, yes. But you also have another attribute - namely, the possibility of falling prey to possession. Not all mages…”

“There are mages who are not strong enough to resist,” Cullen warned her.

“And that is yet another attribute that only applies to particular mages, not to mages on the whole. Thus, you’re arguing that if one mage in one-hundred falls, that _all_ of them ought to be locked up. It’s still the part-whole fallacy.”

“I doubt the people of Thedas would appreciate knowing that their safety is of less concern to the Chantry than an an academic exercise,” Cullen said, scowling.

“It’s not just an academic…Ugh!” Kate dropped her list to her lap on a shout. She let out a breath and closed her eyes.

“No,” she said tightly. “I told myself I wasn’t going to argue with you today.”

“Fire away,” Cullen told her, readying for the worst.

“This isn’t about academics, Cullen,” Kate said. “This is about _people_. Mages are locked up and abused on this vague worry about blood magic, when the truth remains that most mages aren’t talented enough to be more dangerous to the general public than any recruit with a blade.”

“Most of them aren’t,” Cullen agreed. “But if you had ever seen an abomination…”

“Which I have,” Kate spoke over him.

“But you haven’t seen what I– What we templars have seen.”

“Haven’t I?” Kate returned. “I’ve seen the aftermath of failed Harrowings, Cullen. And it doesn’t change the fact that the logic is absurd. Mages are potentially dangerous, but that’s no excuse to beat them and lock them in the cellars and make them utterly desperate.”

“Well, certainly not to _beat_ them, but…”

But Cullen stopped there. Because just then, something flickered in Kate’s eyes.

“Did they beat you?” he asked, before he could help himself.

Kate looked quickly away. “The Circle at Ostwick was about a mild as they come,” she replied. “The point is not whether I escaped such mistreatment, but that such mistreatment was so common as to require escaping. And _that_ is the trouble, Cullen. You don’t cage the average person just because of their potential. And yet, that’s exactly what’s done to mages. We are locked up for what we might become, not what we are. And thus,” she went on, when Cullen looked like he might speak, “Thus, the Order’s very existence is based upon the part-whole fallacy. With such an illogical basis, it’s no wonder the templars fell into chaos.”

Cullen found himself caught between concern for Kate and exasperation for his own sake. Of course Kate would see his life’s calling as nothing more than a logical error. But at the same time, she had evaded his questions. That spoke volumes. Most likely she _had_ been mistreated, Cullen realized.

A sinking feeling settled within him, borne of guilt and compassion together. But before he could ask her about it, Kate continued, saying:

“Look, my intention in bringing up the part-whole fallacy was to apologize to you.”

“Was it?” Cullen asked, doubtfully.

“It was,” Kate told him. “I meant to say that _I_ fell prey to the part-whole fallacy in regards to _you_. You were a Kirkwall templar, and you were a part of the Chantry. I know there is an argument to made about following orders and all that, but…”

“I’m not making that argument,” Cullen interrupted her, “And I’m not trying to hide behind the shield of the Chantry, either. I regret that I failed to protect the mages under my care. The fact that I was following orders at the time is no excuse.”

“Oh, I…” Kate broke off, blinking at him. “You really believe that?”

“Of course I do!” Cullen said. “I told you this yesterday - er, before. Whenever it was that we spoke. Not that you were listening to me,” he added with a grumble. “But yes, I should have stood by my principles no matter the cost. In the end, I did. Not that it seems to matter to you.”

Kate pressed her lips together. “I see,” she said, softly.

“Maker,” Cullen muttered. “If this is your idea of an apology, I’d hate to see what you count as accusation.”

“Well, if you didn’t get me off topic, it _would_ be an apology,” Kate snapped.

Cullen raised his brows.

“Sorry,” she said, stiffly. “But really,” she went on, not sounding sorry at all, “You do keep interrupting me.”

“Did you intend to speak with me, or talk at me?” he wanted to know.

“I _intended_ to say that I should not have expected you to answer for the Order. You are responsible for your actions alone. Or inaction, as the case may be.”

“Inaction,” Cullen repeated.

“Well?” Kate replied, raising a brow.

Her tone stung. That expression of hers stung as well. But before Cullen could think of anything to say in reply, Kate returned to her list once more.

“Anger. Right. I took my anger out on you. It’s a lot easier to yell at you than at the Order. And you’re less likely to smite me for shouting.”

Cullen drew back at that thought. “I would never smite you. That’s not even…”

“That was supposed to be a joke,” Kate said. “Clearly, it didn’t come off as well as I’d hoped.”

Cullen cocked his head. “Did you actually write that joke down on the agenda?” he asked her.

Kate flushed and turned back to her list. Maybe it was his imagination, but Cullen thought he saw the word ‘smitejoke’ written just below where her finger rested on the paper.

“Anyhow,” she said, “I was angry at the Order. And you took the brunt of that anger. Apologies.”

It didn’t sound like an apology to Cullen’s ears. He could tell that she was still furious. He recognized it in the set of her shoulders, the tightness in the corner of her mouth. As someone who had spent years living under the heavy hand of impotent rage, Cullen knew the signs of it very well.

“But you’re not just angry at the Chantry,” he said. “You’re angry at me, too. Aren’t you?”

* * *

Kate bit the inside of her cheek to keep from responding. She wished that Cullen would not ask her direct questions like that. The answer was _yes_ , of course she was. But that sounded rude, and she hesitated to say it aloud. Yet there Cullen sat, waiting for her to respond. Kate found it most provoking.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” Cullen said. He sighed and scrubbed his gloved hands over his face. “Right then.”

“No, I…”

Kate felt she ought lie about her anger, or at least politely hedge around the truth. But Cullen wasn’t asking for that, now was he? He wanted to know what she thought. And so Kate found herself admitting:

“Alright, yes. I know I shouldn’t be pointing fingers, but really Cullen, you were part of a system that’s very…” She tried to think of a word for it, but could come up with nothing better than, “Wrong.”

What an epic failure in vocabulary, Kate thought. Kirkwall was a great deal more than ‘wrong’, but that word would have to do for now. When she fell silent, Cullen drew in a sharp breath.

“Kirkwall was wrong, certainly,” Cullen said, letting his hands drop. “But you must understand that the templars’ mission was to…”

“No!” Kate interrupted, sharply. Cullen blinked and her, and Kate had to admit she’d startled even herself.

“I know what their mission is,” she told him. “The templars drill it into the mages as often as they drill it into their own recruits. I’m well aware that people like me are supposed to be locked up to protect people like… Like _them_.” She waved her hand out at the farmlands. “Believe me, the Chantry’s part-whole fallacy was recited to me over and over in all its illogical glory.”

“Did it ever occur to you that templars aren’t just jailers?” Cullen asked her. “It isn’t about these people or those people.” He waved a hand at the farmland and then back to Kate, mimicking her gesture. “It’s about protecting the world from magic. Protecting mages, too. I wanted to help them. I _want_ to help them,” he added.

“Do you have any idea how patronizing that sounds?” Kate said, rounding on him in annoyance. “As if we were children who couldn’t take care of ourselves.”

Cullen let out a huff. “Alright, yes,” he admitted, “I’m sure that’s how it looks to someone as talented and capable as yourself. Obviously, you’re not the kind of mage that anyone needs to worry about. But you didn’t start out as capable as you are now, did you?”

“That’s a backhanded compliment if I ever heard one,” Kate said, frowning at him.

“The fact remains that magic is dangerous. Given enough power, a single mage could tear the world in two.”

“And a crazy person with a sword could do the same!” Kate retorted. “By the Void, you don’t even need a sword. Just get enough people on your side, and they’d tear up the world with their bare hands if they had to, just like with Andraste. Anyhow,” she concluded, with a wave of her hand. “The Chantry leaders aren’t really concerned about containing magic, as evidenced by how quick they are to use it for their own purposes. I’ve long suspected it has more to do with the elves.”

Cullen drew up short at that. “The elves?”

“Exactly,” Kate nodded. “Why do you think the Chantry wants mages locked up? And I mean _really_ now - not the argument about blood magic and danger.”

When Cullen just looked at Kate in confusion, she answered her own question:

“The Chantry says it doesn’t want another Tevinter. Yet in Tevinter, it’s not the mages who rule. It’s certain families of mages, or so I understand. The problem is the same there as it is here. Magic is the great equalizer. Or, well, not really an equalizer. A chaos-maker. The poorest slave could turn out to have the greatest magic. And the idea of a poor human peasant rivaling a king for power? That’s alarming. But an elf? The Chantry can take swords out of elven hands - but not their magic. And if elven mages overthrew the alienages, then where would the nobility be? Most families would lose their servants and the cities would lose their primary source of cheap labor. Consider that the Chantry’s income largely comes from tithes and donations from the nobility. They might call it piety, but it looks a great deal like maintaining the balance of power, don’t you think? As my father always says, ‘Follow the money.’”

Cullen gaped at her, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally sputtered: “W-well.” Kate suddenly realized what she’d monologued and squeezed her eyes shut.

“That…None of that was on my list.” She opened her eyes and shook her head. “That would be from a half-formed thesis that I’ve been writing in the back of my head. Not one I’ll be putting up for publication any time soon, as you can imagine. I’d rather not get the Tranquil’s brand, thank you very much.”

“You think you’d be branded for saying that?” Cullen asked her.

“Are you joking?” Kate said, turning to him. “Of course I would!”

Cullen’s brows furrowed and he looked away sharply. “Maker,” she heard him mutter.

“Yes, precisely,” Kate said, waving her list at him. “You know it’s true. Speak of justice and the Chantry brands you a rebel. Suggest an anti-Chantry theory - even if there’s reasonable evidence for it - and they’ll jail you for it. The entire situation is maddening. And no, I don’t have a better solution for protecting against the dangers of magic. And yes, I do recognize that mages require proper training. I did like the learning part of the Circle, I must admit. But the Chantry’s mage solution is no solution at all. It makes me so angry that I just want to…”

“To what?” Cullen asked, softly.

Kate broke off there, gritting her teeth. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“What is it?” Cullen asked. He looked right at her, and Kate couldn’t say it.

“I lost my place on the list,” she muttered, looking at the paper in her hand.

“Forget your list.” Cullen shook his head. “Maker knows I’m not going to turn you into the Chantry for what you said. What is it you want to do?”

“I hardly know! That’s the trouble.”

Kate turned and scowled at him. Of course a templar would find it easy to talk. _He_ had not struggled all his life to put his feelings and frustration into words. Then again, Kate mused, maybe he had. It wasn’t like the Circles encouraged templars to think for themselves.

“The truth is, I’m angry at _myself,_ ” Kate spat, before she could think better of it.

* * *

“What?” Cullen blinked at her.

“Ugh,” Kate groaned. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Cullen found himself completely confused.

“But you did nothing,” he said.

“Exactly, Cullen,” Kate said, wearily. “I did nothing. Other mages fought and died. They stood up for what they believed in. But me? I did nothing. Like a good researcher, I observed the problem from afar,” she added, frowning at the paper in her hand.

“I allowed the Circle to convince me that my connections to the Trevelyans would keep Ostwick safe,” Kate told him. “I let my parents convince me that I was showing the world how good and well-mannered mages were by dancing at parties and serving tea. And maybe that worked for a while. Until it didn’t. Because what good is ‘safe’ when the world is burning? What good is ‘good,’ when no one can agree on what that means anymore? I should have done something.”

Cullen sat there in the silence that followed her outburst. He considered his next words carefully, for he feared Kate wouldn’t like them at all. Even so, he ventured:

“I can understand that anger,” he told her. “I feel it for myself as well.”

She looked over at him doubtfully. Cullen held her gaze.

“That’s almost exactly what I said to myself after Kirkwall fell. I kept thinking that I should have done something. But then I couldn’t think what I would have done or when I would have done it. Similar regret, very different circumstances.”

Kate sniffed, and Cullen saw there were tears in her eyes. He expected those tears to fall, but they didn’t. Somehow, she blinked them back.

“Why did you do it?” she asked him, a waver in her voice. “Why did you help Meredith all those years?”

Cullen’s words turned to ash in his mouth. He’d wondered when they’d get back to this. “Kate…”

“Don’t ‘Kate’ me,” she said. “Don’t ‘Trevelyan’ me, either. Just answer the…” She caught herself, shaking her head hard.

“I am trying,” she said. “ _Really_ trying to understand how someone who seems so honest and… and _charming_ …”

“Charming?” he gaped at her.

”…can be the same person who was a jailer of Kirkwall.”

“Charming?” Cullen murmured to himself.

Maker’s breath. First ‘handsome,’ and now ‘charming.’ If she wasn’t so obviously furious at him, these compliments might have gone to his head.

“That’s off script,” Kate said, tightly. “Obviously. Look. Can you just…I’m trying to understand what happened in Kirkwall.”

“Good luck with that,” Cullen replied. “I’m still trying to understand it.”

“You have _no_ reason for joining Meredith?”

“The simplest one of all,” Cullen returned. “I was transferred there.”

“You’re not from Kirkwall?” Kate blinked at him.

“I…er, no,” he said. “I’m Ferelden. I thought you knew that.”

“Oh,” she murmured. “That would explain the hair…”

Cullen decided to get away from that line of questioning. He didn’t want her to ask about Ferelden and come to learn that he had first served in Kinloch Hold. Considering that this was Kate he was dealing with, she’d probably read all about the Fifth Blight and what had happened at the Ferelden Circle during that time. He had no desire to speak of it, nor to endure her pitying looks should he simply fall silent and stare at his boots.

“I was sent to Kirkwall,” he told her instead, “and no, at first I didn’t notice anything was wrong. It’s like anything. Add fuel to the fire by degrees and no one feels the heat rising.”

And he was so blinded by anger and rage at the blood mages of Ferelden he hadn’t realized he was roasting in the flames of the Abyss. But he couldn’t say this to Kate.

“I suppose I should have done something sooner,” Cullen went on. “But I didn’t. I’m not so quick to abandon loyalties that I would have quit my job over the very first suspicion I had. I believed in the principles of the Order, even if those principles were entirely betrayed by Meredith’s actions.”

Kate gaped at him. “Maker’s breath, do you know how that sounds? You talk about principles, but what about the mages?”

“Of course I cared about the mages,” Cullen said, frowning at her, but Kate wasn’t listening to him.

“Even now,” she went on, angrily, “you want me to recruit the templars to the Inquisition’s cause. Why? Because you worry about what the Lord Seeker is doing with them. But they chose to follow him. They were the ones who abandoned their lofty ‘principles.’ And yet you don’t think twice about the mages in Redcliffe, do you? Because you still don’t see mages as people.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. “That blasted line from that blasted dwarf’s blasted book is going to dog me for all of eternity. I never _said_ that.”

“But you think it,” Kate said.

“I do not.”

“You know what I think Cullen? I think that Kirkwall was like a sinking ship.”

“You’ll get no objection from me on that comparison,” Cullen drawled, letting his hands drop into his lap.

“And I think you were too busy with your own survival to care about any of the other passengers. All you can talk about is how difficult the Gallows were for you, how hard it was to rebuild. It’s like you didn’t even notice how the mages were dashed on the rocks when the ship went down or drowned because they were trapped in the hold. All you can say is ‘Damn it all, I had a long swim to shore.’”

Cullen stared at her for a moment, his temper spiking. He wanted to tell her that he was bloody well _still swimming_ , but that wasn’t what made him angriest.

“Is that what you think?” he snapped. “You think I don’t _care_ enough? Well, I’m sorry that I lack a flair for your dramatic metaphors. But I assure you, Kate, I took note of every person I failed to save. Those drowned souls of Kirkwall are on my mind constantly. I see their faces in my nightmares, hear their voices…”

Cullen choked on those words. He bit down so hard his teeth clicked together. He had the sudden urge to rise to his feet and walk away. Kate and her lists be damned. If his legs weren’t on the verge of going numb, he would have done just that.

“And what would _you_ have done differently?” he fired off angrily, fighting back with his words since using his legs was out of the question. “How would you, in all your infinite wisdom, have fixed the problem of the Gallows? Only, before you answer, remember that if you’d been a templar like me, you’d have been bound by the rules of the Order, sworn in service to the Chantry, groomed since childhood to follow orders…”

Kate muttered something to herself. It sounded suspiciously like “indoctrinated, that’s what it was.”

“Oh, and let’s not forget,” Cullen added, even more irritated now. “If you failed to do your duty, you’d be reprimanded, locked in your rooms for days, denied your lyrium until you complied…”

Kate’s eyes went huge. “They _did_ that?”

“Of course they did!” Cullen cried, too annoyed to stop himself. “They call it a ‘disciplinary measure’, but we all knew what it really was. Spend more than a day or so without the stuff and you’re shivering in some corner, wondering how you can possibly go on without…”

Cullen trailed off, realizing what he was admitting to her. He stopped there and gritted his teeth. Well, so much for keeping _that_ embarrassing image to himself.

“Sweet Andraste,” Kate murmured. She looked dumbfounded, and that infuriated Cullen as well. It wasn’t like mages were the only ones the Chantry bound and leashed.

“All I mean to say is this,” Cullen managed at last, his voice hard as flint, “It’s not as if I remained at Meredith’s side because I had nothing better to do. It was my job, my assignment, my entire _life_. And I…”

He didn’t know how to finish that statement. So he just said what he’d said before:

“I left all that for the Inquisition, Kate. I don’t like looking back, not even to pay my debts of shame. Perhaps it offends you that I don’t explain myself better, but there it is. I imagine _you_ have a lot of things that you’d rather not speak of in your past as well.”

Kate stared at him for a long moment, then let out a long breath.

“They truly did that to you, with the lyrium?”

“I should not have said that,” Cullen said tightly.

He supposed that now was a perfect time to explain that he wasn’t taking the stuff anymore, but for whatever reason, Cullen found that he didn’t want to. He didn’t want her pity, or worse, her expression of horror at the thought that she was dealing with a templar in the middle of withdrawals.

“Maker,” she murmured, staring at him. “That sounds awful.”

Cullen let out a low, bitter laugh. It was all he could manage, everything considered.

“Is that why you didn’t stand up to Knight-Commander Mer…?”

“Please don’t” Cullen said, cutting her off, shortly. “I don’t like to talk about lyrium. And I made foolish choices of my own. I was stupid and blind, just as you said.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Didn’t you?” Cullen returned, looking right at her. “Maker knows I mean it when I say the same things to myself.”

Kate stared at him, her brows furrowed in an expression of pity. Cullen found it quite difficult to endure, so he looked away and stared at the fields and farms further along the country road. A few golden leaves fluttered down over him, landing on his outstretched legs.

“I don’t like being this angry,” Kate said, softly. “It makes me feel like I’m a spirit of rage all on my own. No demon necessary.”

Cullen gave a bitter snort. He could well identify with that feeling.

“I can see how it all connects together,” Kate went on. “The reasons why. The histories and the might-have-beens. I can see it and understand it and it still makes me so angry. I can’t imagine this war between templars and mages was what Andraste intended.”

“I’ve often wanted to ask her about that,” Cullen agreed.

He hazarded a glance at her, and saw her list lay in her lap. Her expression was vulnerable and thoughtful and Cullen suddenly felt desperate to make her understand.

“I didn’t join the Order because I wanted to cage people,” he told her, the words tumbling out before he could take them back. “I just wanted to protect people. More than that, really. I wanted…”

Kate didn’t move a muscle, but continued to watch him closely. Maybe she _was_ trying to understand after all. Cullen gazed right back at her as he tried to explain:

“There were a handful of templars who guarded our village Chantry. As a child, I was in awe of them. Those men had strength and confidence unlike anything I’d ever seen. Every other grown-up I’d met was a farmer or a shopkeeper or a merchant. They worried about the weather and the state of the roads and seldom talked of anything else. They never looked up from the ground. But those templar knights were well-read and clever and they kept their eyes up on the horizon. I kept thinking that they saw something beyond the village - something no one else could see. I wanted to find out what it was.”

“And did you?” Kate asked, when he didn’t go on.

“It was purpose,” he told her. “They had a cause to fight for. I thought the Order could give purpose to me as well. I begged the templars for years to train me, and eventually, they did.”

“How old were you?” Kate asked, inclining her head ever so slightly.

“Eight when I first knew I wanted to be a templar. Thirteen when I left for my training.”

“That’s awfully young to be thinking about purpose,” Kate observed.

“Yes, well,” Cullen shrugged one shoulder. “I fear I was always this serious.”

Kate gave a small chuckle. “If you’d known me as a child, you’d know I’m in no position to judge.”

Cullen smiled back at her, and then his smile faded.

“It took me a while to catch up to the other recruits,” he told her. “I was no squire, after all. But I did well in the end - aided by my single-mindedness, no doubt. For a while there, I thought I’d made something of myself. But looking back over the years, my desire for purpose got twisted and I…”

He looked away, unwilling to even think of Kinloch Hold.

“I couldn’t give it all up so easily,” he said, speaking to the fields. “I didn’t want to admit I’d come so far from my goal - all in the _pursuit_ of that goal. What I did in Kirkwall wasn’t right. I see that now. I followed orders and I took my lyrium and went on patrol when I was told. I may not have hurt people with my actions. But I hurt them by my inaction. I know that, Kate,” he said, looking over at her. “I offer no excuses for it. I’m just here to offer my sword arm.”

“To whom?” Kate asked, looking back at him steadily.

“What?”

“To whom are you offering your sword arm?” she repeated. “The Inquisition? The remains of the templar Order? What purpose are you fighting for now, Cullen?”

An excellent question, he thought.

“Protection for those who can’t protect themselves,” he replied at once. “That’s all I’ve ever intended to provide. I’m ashamed that I ever…”

But he couldn’t finish that thought.

“That sounds like a good purpose,” Kate murmured. Cullen found he still couldn’t look at her.

“Maker,” she said, softly. “You say things like that, and I…” She broke off and said no more.

“What?” Cullen asked her.

“Nothing,” she told him. “It sounds completely stupid, even in my head.”

“Indulge me,” Cullen said, raising a brow.

Kate pursed her lips, then sighed. “I feel like I’m being disloyal to all the other mages in the world if I forgive you,” she said, looking right at him.

Cullen could do nothing but stare at her.

“That sounds awful, doesn’t it?” Kate said, looking down at the paper in her hand. “And why should I care about all those rebel mages anyhow? It’s not like they cared about me. They made their vote for freedom and let the rest of us deal with the mess. But then, I can’t entirely blame them. They did as they thought best and I… Blast,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Stick to the notes, girl. Stick to the notes.”

“Forget the notes,” Cullen told her. “That’s what you truly think.”

“I don’t know what to think!” Kate told him, waving her hand wide. “What happened in Kirkwall was awful. How can I possibly overlook that? And yet, you helped the mages in the end. How can I not admire that? According to the stories, you’re half villain, half hero. And now you’re saving soldiers and protecting people and searching for purpose and I can’t help but admire you. But I don’t know what part of you is _you_. You seem like a decent person, Cullen. It hurts me to think you were ever any less than the man you are now.”

Cullen stared at her, so stunned that he couldn’t speak at first.

“Well,” he murmured after a moment. “That’s…well.”

What could he say to that, Cullen wondered? It hurt _him_ that he’d ever strayed so far from his ideals. And yet, even as Kate’s words pained him, they gave him a measure of hope. True, she disapproved of his actions in the past. By the Void, Cullen disapproved of his actions back then. But if Kate thought him a good sort of person in the present, then maybe he wasn’t beyond redemption. He often worried that he was. Yet perhaps there was hope for them in the future.

Hope for _him_ in the future, Cullen corrected himself. Obviously he and Kate had no future of… Well, they were just allies, weren’t they? Rather tentative ones at that. Still, they were on the same side. That had to count for something. They’d completed their mission, had now debriefed properly. It was a good start, all things considered. Cullen had known officers far less intelligent and principled than Kate. If he could just get used to her unsettling intensity, this might be a very effective working relationship indeed.

“Maker,” Kate muttered beside him. “Years of rhetoric classes and lessons in deportment and listen to me now. I get to talking with you and I forget all my manners. Look, I’m _trying_ to make things right here. Please excuse me if I make it all worse. But I was trained for the classroom, not the battlefield.”

“I can see that,” Cullen replied.

“It’s embarrassingly obvious, I daresay,” Kate said, flushing and looking at her list.

“No, it’s just…” Cullen tried to think of how to say this in a way that would not offend her. “It’s easy to pick up a sword and fancy oneself a warrior. But the only effective way to fight is to be smart about it. The lecture hall can be more useful than you think.”

“Now you’re just flattering me,” Kate said.

“Flattering you?” Cullen had never been accused of _that_ before.

“I was simply trying to fix this,” Kate said. “Make everything neat and easy and organized. But between a mage and a templar…”

She shook her head and sighed. Cullen felt his gut twist.

“You think that’s impossible?” he asked. The words came out short, tight.

“I hope it’s possible,” Kate said, looking at him with such sincerity that he had to believe it. “But I have to confess, this isn’t easy for me. I’m nervous around templars for a start, and the whole thing with Kirkwall…”

Cullen frowned, and Kate looked quickly away. “Well, I suppose you feel the same way about mages,” she muttered.

“Not about you,” Cullen said.

The words were out before he had time to think them through. Yet Cullen found they were true. He didn’t think of Kate as a mage. He think of her as _not_ a mage, either. Rather, she was just… _Kate_ \- the woman with the lists and the ever-changing facial expressions. Right now, her countenance was one of flattered surprise.

“Oh,” Kate said, blinking. “Um… Thank you?”

Cullen didn’t know what to say to that. ‘You’re welcome’ didn’t sound entirely appropriate. Instead, Cullen cleared his throat.

“I suppose I ought to say that I’m not all that nervous around _you_ …” Kate began.

“Are you?” Cullen wanted to know. “Nervous around me?”

“No,” she said. “Not anymore.” The admission seemed to surprise her.

“Ah,” Cullen said.

Well then, he thought. That was good, wasn’t it? She did not fear him - always a good start among allies. Cullen supposed he ought to be pleased with how this conversation had turned out. For his part, he had gotten the opportunity to explain himself. He’d said more than he meant to, in fact. According to Kate’s list, this conversation was done. The commander of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste were allies once again. Anything else was superfluous, surely.

And yet, Cullen felt that he was missing something. It was that final item on the list, he realized: ‘common ground’, as Kate had named it. Cullen glanced over at Kate’s lap, but could not read her writing from here. They had not discussed that point - or had they? Certainly he and Kate had a number of things in common. They shared a history with the Chantry, shared frustrations about that history, and they’d both had formal logic training besides. But that wasn’t what Cullen had hoped for. It came as a surprise to find that he’d hoped for more.

But before Cullen could think on that, an unexpected figure came stomping up the road. At first, the elf appeared as a skinny whirlwind topped by black braids, then took shape as Kate’s fierce Dalish friend, Colleen. She huffed as she walked, pointing a finger accusingly in their direction.

“Where in _feck_ have yeh been, Kate?” The elf shouted, striding to a stop. “I’ve been all over these fields lookin’ fer yeh!”

* * *

“Coll!” Kate said, looking up in surprise. Her friend appeared angry already, but when Coll caught sight of Cullen, her eyes narrowed even further.

“What. Teh _feck_. Are yeh doin’?” the elf demanded. This question was punctuated at intervals as Coll gasped for breath.

“Nothing,” Kate said, quickly. “We were just talking.”

Or they had been earlier, Kate thought. Because for the past minute, she and Cullen had just been sitting in uncomfortable silence. Kate had tried to think of something more to say, but had failed utterly. Even her list had been of no use. For really, there was no list nor logic nor any conversation could undo the past. Kirkwall would always be there in Cullen’s history. He would either make amends for his mistakes or he would not. Such choices were up to him, not Kate.

And maybe that was the real problem, Kate realized. She could not _make_ Cullen repent of his past. Nor could she erase the terrors of Kirkwall or the battles of the past year or the Conclave explosion or any of it. Kate couldn’t even control what missions that the Inquisition assigned to her. She could only choose her allies: rebel mages, desperate refugees, a group of Chantry heretics…

And perhaps also this soldier who sat beside her.

With this thought, Kate glanced over at Cullen. The sunlight glinted on his hair and armor, the wind fluffed that odd fur ruff around his neck. At the sight, Kate felt something twist up inside of her. She felt suspended there, beween judgement and acceptance - and something else, something hesitant and hopeful that Kate didn’t want to investigate at all.

“Talkin’, were you?” Coll snapped, drawing Kate’s attention away from Cullen. The elf’s glittering eyes searched Kate’s face.

“Yes,” Kate said, precisely as she could. “Just talking.”

She tried to stand, but found her legs were wobbly. Coll strode on over, and held out a hand to Kate. As soon as Kate took it, the Dalish yanked her to her feet with surprising force. Kate nearly toppled onto Coll. As for Cullen, he climbed to his feet, using the wall for support. It wasn’t the most graceful maneuver Kate had ever seen from him, but he managed it all on his own.

“The Seeker said you’d gone to the barns,” Coll said, still scowling. “So off I go to greet yeh. But yeh weren’t there, so off I was, racing all over the farms…”

“Oh, Coll, I’m so sorry,” Kate said. “I had no idea…”

“So then I starts to panic,” Coll went on. “There are bandits and demons and _templars_ in these woods, Kate.” She addressed this last bit at Cullen, whose face remained impassive.

“We were here the whole time,” Kate told her. “You probably couldn’t see us tucked down against the wall as we were.”

“ _Tucked down_ were you?” Coll repeated.

“Cullen and I just had a few things to discuss,” Kate went on. “We’re done now.”

”‘Cullen,’ eh?” Coll said. From the way her lip curled, Kate imagined that Coll was preparing to unleash ‘Teh Stink Eye’ upon him.

“And what were yeh discussin’ with this templar that look yeh so long?” Coll demanded.

Maker’s breath, Kate thought, rolling her eyes. Sometimes Coll could be as protective as a mother hen. But before Kate could think up a suitable answer, Coll reached over and snatched the piece of paper in Kate’s hand.

“What’s this?” Coll asked turning it over and looking at it.

“Hey!” Kate said, grabbing at it. But Coll held the paper away and unfolded it.

”‘Apology’?” Coll asked, reading Kate’s handwriting far too easily. “‘Common ground’?” Her black brows snapped together. “Ah, feck me. Not again, Kate.”

Kate responded by snagging the list and shoving it into her pocket.

“Kate-lass,” Coll said, firmly. “Yer an eejit.”

“Yes, thank you, Coll,” Kate replied. “You can stop now.”

But, of course, Coll didn’t stop.

“Come on now, Kate,” the elf said. “What did I tell yeh about fightin’?”

“Don’t plan it, just throw punches,” Kate recited. “But Coll…”

“I told yeh,” Coll said, shaking her finger in Kate’s face. “None of this writin’-it-out shite.”

“Wait, what?” Cullen frowned. Coll snorted and waved a tattooed hand.

“Kate does this bollocks every time she wants to impress a body with her great plannin’ and persuadin’. Brought me one of ‘er scrawly little lists once after we’d had a row. Laughed for days about it, I did.”

“You tore the list up,” Kate reminded her.

“Didn’t yeh try this on yer cousin once, too?”

“When I was ten,” Kate mumbled. “Robert just said I was being boring and climbed a tree.”

Cullen pressed his lips together, and looked down at the ground. He appeared to be smiling. Or laughing, maybe.

“And here I thought you considered me a stick-in-the-mud,” he said.

“No, nothing like that,” Kate protested at once.

“Well, yeh _are_ a stick-in-the-mud from what I hear on you,” Coll said. “A right jackboot up the arse.”

“Coll!” Kate cried, blushing to the roots of her hair.

“Oh, get on with you. It’s only the truth I’m sayin’. And here’s the truth about Kate, templar,” Coll added, speaking to Cullen in a stage-whisper, “She’s just as bad if yeh let her be. Has too many rules in her. Rules of magic, rules of shem society, Chantry rules, too. Chances her out when she can’t find rules to follow with people.”

Cullen’s questioning gaze shot to Kate over the top of Coll’s head, and Kate fought the urge to throw her hands over her face in utter mortification.

“And our Kate isn’t much of a fighter,” Coll added, “but she’ll beat the hell outta yer patience. Talkin’ circles around yeh with her so-called logic.”

“Will she?” Cullen asked, his lips twitching in amusement.

“There is no such thing as so-called logic, Coll,” Kate said precisely, as she focused her attention on straightening the sleeves of her jacket. “There’s just logic and the lack of it.”

“Yeah, well, yer lackin’ _something_ when ya drag out yer lists,” Coll said. “Just talk to a body like a normal person. Yeh got to stop overthinkin’ all the things. Oi, templar,” she added, slapping her hand against Cullen’s stomach, “Tell me yeh didn’t just sit there and let her read that list at yeh. Yeh got her talkin’ plain, right?”

“I…I believe so,” Cullen said.

“Yes, Coll,” Kate mumbled. “Cullen and I spoke at length.”

“And yeh talked plain?” Coll asked Kate, wanting to be clear on this point. “Throwin’ punches with no plan, like?”

“Yes, Coll,” Kate said. “I failed to remain calm and said things I shouldn’t have.”

“Grand then!” Coll said, beaming at Cullen. “Good on you, templar, if you endured Kate’s givin’ out. It’s a rare sight, ain’t it, to see her in a temper?”

“I, um…”

But Coll did not really seem to require an answer to that question. She cut Cullen off, saying: “This was about yeh bein’ from Kirkwall, wasn’t it? Well I hope Kate set yeh straight about all that shite yeh pulled afore yeh did teh right thing.”

She glared at Cullen and poked her finger in his stomach.

“Maker’s breath, Coll,” Kate said. “You can’t just…”

But then, hadn’t Kate taken Cullen to task in a similar way? She couldn’t very well criticize Coll for doing the same.

“She certainly did,” Cullen told Coll. “Consider me set straight.”

Coll raised a slim, dark brow at his deadpan tone. “Well now. Here I thought you were a right dry shite. But you’re quite the smartarse, ain’t yeh?”

“ _Coll_ ,” Kate hissed.

Coll stared up at Cullen for one long moment, her eyes narrowed and her tattooed face scrunched up in consideration. He stared right back, though the corner of his mouth quirked upward for the briefest moment.

“Yer not a total feck,” Coll pronounced at last, nodding solemnly.

“Thank you,” Cullen replied.

“Well then!” Coll said with a bright, beaming smile. “Let’s get on with it. And any friend of Kate’s is a friend of mine. Even if yeh are the feckin’ knight-captain of feckin’ Kirkwall.”

Cullen’s surprised expression grew even more surprised when Coll punched him on the arm. He must be awfully strong, Kate thought, for Coll’s blow didn’t phase him one bit. The scarred side of his mouth curled again as he smiled at Coll. When he turned that smile to Kate, she felt her heart flutter strangely.

 _Well_ , she thought, looking away. Good. This was all very good. At least Coll would no longer give Cullen the stink eye - she hoped.

“On we go, then,” Coll said, waving a hand at them both. “After dealin’ with Kate’s lists and harpin’, I bet you could use a drink, eh templar?”

“I don’t drink,” Cullen told Coll.

“Don’t be daft,” Coll returned, as if he’d said he didn’t breathe. “Now come with me, Kate-lass. The others are all waitin’ on yeh back at the campfire.”

Coll grabbed Kate’s arm and began dragging Kate down the road. Kate looked back over her shoulder to find Cullen scooping up the packs - both his and Kate’s - and placing the straps over one shoulder.

 _Sorry_ , Kate mouthed at him when she caught his eye. Cullen just grinned at her and inclined his head, as if to say, ‘it’s fine.’ Kate then turned her eyes to the road, lest she stumble as Coll hauled her along.

“I didn’t get the shem into bed, by the way,” Coll told Kate.

“I…what?” Kate asked.

“No Krem-shem for Coll,” her friend said, pouting. “But I’m working on it. I’ve got that he likes women, though. One of the other Chargers said so.”

“You didn’t just proposition him?” Kate asked, surprised.

“Not this time, Kate,” Coll said, wagging her finger in the air craftily. “A special strategy for a special fella. Got a plan, I do.”

“I hesitate to ask,” Kate said.

“Aren’t I all about impressing him with my military prowess? Figure a merc shem would want a warrior lass.”

“But you hate fighting,” Kate reminded her. “Almost as much as you hate the outdoors.”

“Yeah, but _he_ doesn’t know that,” Coll said. “And I _can_ fight, when I put me mind to it. In fact, ought to tell yeh ‘bout that. Yer missin’ scouts up on the coast? Dead. So we went after the arselicks what did it. I challenged their leader to single combat…”

“You did _what_?” Kate gaped at her.

“And I beat him!” Coll said proudly. “That old root spell, ya know. Oaken enema, I used teh call it. Worked as well as afore. His merc band pledged their loyalty to me. Blades of Hessarian or somesuch. I don’t want ‘em, so I’m re-giftin’ ‘em. Sent the contract to the Nightingale. Did you know she’s been reading my mail?”

“I…” Kate’s head was spinning now. “Wait. Back up. You challenged a merc band…”

“Just the leader with the dogs,” Coll shrugged, as if she did this sort of thing every day. “‘Twas all real feral-like. Reminded me of the days when… Well, anyhow. He died. I won his men. Only, haven’t I gifted ‘em to your Inquisition? ‘Cause what am I going to do with crazy shem mercs? I ask yeh. Only one shem merc I want!”

She laughed loudly, then turned and pointed a finger at Cullen.

“Don’t pass it around,” she said to him sternly, “but that Krem fellow is _mine_.”

“Poor lad,” Kate thought she heard Cullen say.

“Um, that’s…great, Coll,” Kate said.

Coll waved a tattooed hand. “Isn’t it though? Ah, and the best is yet to come, surely.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Well then,” Kate muttered. “I’ll be sure to knock before I enter your tent.”

Coll grinned. Kate tried to smile back. Normally, Kate found Coll’s stories about her various sexual exploits very amusing. But with Cullen following behind them, this was much more awkward. Especially when Coll announced:

“Oh! And that Iron Bull, Kate? Has a thing for red-heads, he does.”

“How nice for him,” Kate said, seeing at once where this was going.

“Don’t play coy Kate,” Coll said. “Keep an open mind.”

“I try to keep my mind open, Coll,” Kate said, pitching her voice low so that Cullen couldn’t hear her. “Doesn’t mean I have to open other parts of my anatomy to match.”

Coll snorted.

“But I might be able to get you _laid,_ Kate,” Coll protested. “Unless yeh…?” She trailed off, hiking a thumb over her shoulder at Cullen.

“No!” Kate cried, eyes wide. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. She didn’t _think_ that cough from Cullen was in response to what Coll had just said. If only Kate could ignore the way her face had gone flaming hot right now.

“Maker, Coll,” she hissed on a low whisper. “We’re not… We’re just… We’re…”

“Say no more,” Coll said easily - and at a volume far too loud for Kate’s peace of mind. “We’ll find yeh someone for a tumble, Kate-lass. Don’t worry about that.”

She adored Coll, Kate thought. Really she did. But sometimes her friend was just too much.

“Though if yeh ain’t fer the templar,” Coll went on, as if they were discussing the weather, “Give the Bull a ride. Fella’s got toys in his pack, he does.”

“Come again?” Kate blinked.

“That’s the idea, Kate!” Coll said, cackling. “That’s the idea!”

Coll dragged Kate onward, with the sound of Cullen’s boots falling heavily in the silence behind them.


	28. Boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen works and Kate is bound

By the time they reached camp, Cullen’s ears were burning.

He hadn’t been able to hear everything that the elf and Kate were whispering about, but he had heard enough to know that both he and sex were among the subject matter. It didn’t seem that those two topics were _linked_ , however, judging by Kate’s protestations. For his part, Cullen was studiously keeping his mind as blank as possible. Good thing the Chantry had taught emptying one’s mind of sinful thoughts as part of morning meditations.

So instead of listening to Coll, Cullen considered the conversation he’d just had with Kate. He imagined picking it up in his mind, and sorting through it as he might sift through the papers of a report. He wasn’t quite sure where to file the thing, but of course he couldn’t very well throw it out of his head. After some consideration, Cullen set it aside in his consideration, as if under a heavy mental paperweight. He was far too tired to properly examine this now, he decided. He’d think on it in the morning.

The trio reached camp as the final slice of the sun melted down behind the outline of the hills. The shadows began to wash together, casting the farms in darkness. There were two fires going among the bustle, with twenty-odd people were around their light. The smell of fried meat called to Cullen’s growling stomach. Off to the far end of camp, Cullen saw one small tent set up all by itself.

Ah, Cullen thought. It seemed someone had anticipated his arrival. He wasn’t sure if he felt grateful that someone recalled his singular sleeping habits or if he felt depressed at the thought that his tent looked like a lone runt puppy kicked out of the pile. The other tents were all nestled together, their sides glowing orange in the firelight.

As Cullen, Kate, and Coll approached the camp, several voices shouted in greeting. A chorus of “ _There_ you are!” and “What took you so long?” rang out. This was trailed by, “Sausages, you lot! Get ‘em before I eat ‘em all,” which came from a fair-haired elf. She had a bow at her side, and sat on a log, stuffing her face with potatoes and sausage.

Morris was also seated at the fire, Cullen saw. The moment Morris saw Kate, he grinned. “Aaaoo pee-ieee maah kaa!” Morris called out, around a mouthful of bread. Cullen could only assume the fellow meant to say, “Hello, pretty mage Kate!” Kate smiled and waved back.

“Hello everyone,” Kate said.

“Here now, Kate,” Coll said, as Cullen came to a stop beside the two women. “Here’s the fellow I wanted to introduce you to.”

She nodded at the fire, grinning maniacally. A large shape detached itself from a group of soldiers seated along a log beside the campfire and materialized as a great, horned giant. The qunari sauntered over with an easy swagger. As he approached, Kate’s neck craned up and up and her jaw dropped open slightly. The qunari stopped in front of Kate and looked down at her in blatant approval.

“So,” the qunari said. His voice made Cullen think of an echo from the bottom of a cast iron kettle. “You’re the new boss. Niiice.”

He said that in the flat accent that dwarves and qunari favored. It sounded like ‘naaaahyyyssss’ to Cullen’s ears.

“Oh. Um…” Kate managed no more than that. She might have been stunned to see a qunari up close, Cullen reflected. But she didn’t need to stare quite that blatantly, did she? And yes, her eyes were right on line with the fellow’s nipples, but did she really need to stare at his bare chest?

The qunari looked far too conspicuous to be Ben Hassrath, Cullen mused. He had an eye-patch, a bit of a beard - or as much of a beard as Cullen had ever seen on a qunari - and the most massive horns Cullen had ever seen on any creature. Instead of curling back against his head all compact-like, the qunari’s horns stuck out to the width of his sizable shoulders. How in the Maker’s name did the fellow walk through doorways, Cullen wondered?

“Name’s Bull,” the qunari said, hiking a thumb at himself as Kate just stared. “The Iron Bull.”

Coll elbowed Kate in the side. Kate sputtered, then recovered herself.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Iron Bull,” she said, her tone perfectly proper. She held out a hand to the mercenary.

“ _The_ Iron Bull,” the fellow corrected. “Don’t forget the definite article.”

With this, he bumped his massive knuckles against the tips of Kate’s fingers. She looked down at her hand in confusion, then let her arm drop.

“Ah,” she said. “ _The_ Iron Bull. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Coll has spoken of little else on our way over here.”

She gave her friend a short, speaking look. Coll smiled and gave Kate a thumbs-up gesture. Kate pasted a brittle smile on her face and turned back to the qunari.

“I’m Kate Trevelyan…” she began.

“Yeah, I know,” the qunari replied, grinning. “I know.”

“Um, right,” Kate said, looking a bit flustered now. “Oh. And this is Commander Cullen. He’s…”

The qunari’s gaze shifted to Cullen. “I know,” he interrupted.

“Ah,” Kate muttered to herself. “Well then.”

The Iron Bull looked Cullen over, his grin nearly as appreciative as when he’d been looking at Kate.

“Also nice,” he said.

It was a shorter ‘nice’, more like ‘nahys,’ but it was accompanied by a wink from the qunari’s one good eye. Cullen blanched and nearly dropped the bags. The Bull wasn’t trying to flirt with Cullen… was he?

Before Cullen could fully register that possibility, the qunari nodded down at Kate’s left hand.

“So,” he said. “That’s it, huh? Mind if I…?” He made a motion as if to reach for her wrist.

“Oh, um, yes,” Kate replied. She drew off her glove, and held out her hand to him.

Cullen frowned at the sight. He hadn’t taken a close look at the mark since the day he’d bound it up. He had thought that Kate’s hand had healed since then. But now he saw that her left palm was crisscrossed with scar tissue, and over it, the mark pulsed like a living thing.

The Bull took Kate’s small hand in one of his massive ones. The qunari cocked his head this way and that as he stared at it, his great horns swiveling like the sails of a windmill.

“Weird-ass looking thing,” he muttered. His lips curled in distaste. “Keeps floatin’ in and out of your hand. Like it’s not really here or there.”

“Well, in a way, it’s both,” Kate replied. “It can reach into the Fade, so I guess it would make sense it’s half in this world, half in the next. Like a key left in a lock.”

“Does it hurt?”

“It hurt at first,” Kate told him. “Now it just buzzes sometimes.”

“Ehh,” Bull concluded after one last look. “I don’t like it.” With that, he let her hand drop.

“None of us _like_ it,” Varric put in, walking over to join them. “But when you think about it, it’s a damn good thing someone ended up with it. Otherwise, we’d be well and truly screwed. And you’d be dead,” he added, pointing at Kate.

“Thank you for the reminder, Varric,” she said dryly.

“So,” Varric said, “We doing introductions? ‘Cause I found you your warden, Duchess.”

“Duchess?” Cullen blinked at Kate.

“One of Varric’s nicknames,” Kate explained. “In rank, I’m just a lady. Courtesy title, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Cullen repeated. Kate shrugged, as if this was nothing. To her, it probably wasn’t.

“Hey, Blackwall!” Varric shouted at the fire. “Come on over and meet the Herald.”

”‘Duchess’ is a crap nickname,” Bull told Varric as a burly fellow near the fire rose to his feet. “Sounds like something an Orlesian asshole would name his lap dog.”

Coll snorted with laughter at that. “Sure but you’re right!”

“You think you could do better?” Varric asked in challenge.

The qunari smirked. “I _know_ I could.”

“Ten to one he’s going to start calling you ‘Red,’” Varric said, looking at Kate with a sigh.

Coll chuckled. “But hasn’t he already named the Nightingale that?”

“See?” Varric said, waving his hands wide, “What did I tell you? Nicknaming is an art that few people can master.”

“If it’s an art, then how did I get saddled with ‘Curly?’” Cullen wanted to know.

“Curly?,” Coll said, turning to Cullen. “Why would he call yeh…? Ach! Get on with you! Yeh straightens it! That’s why I smell the oakmoss on yeh. And…elfroot?”

Coll grabbed Cullen about the ears and clawed him down to her level. Cullen nearly fell over as she sniffed at his head. From his contorted position, he caught sight of Kate. She had covered her mouth with her glowing hand, and her eyes crinkled with laughter. Cullen couldn’t help but smile back.

“Elflower,” Coll pronounced, letting Cullen’s head go at last.

“Guilty as charged,” he replied. Varric rolled his eyes at them all and cleared his throat.

“So _anyhow_ ,” the dwarf said. “Your warden? Remember how the wardens were missing, and Sera and I found the only one left?”

“Right,” Cullen nodded as Kate said, “Of course.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Varric added.

At this, a burly man with a thick, dark beard approached them. The fellow wore dusty, serviceable armor with a warden insignia on the breastplate. He gave a short nod to Cullen, but upon turning to Kate, the man’s eyes widened a bit.

“My lady,” the warden said.

Kate introduced herself - and Cullen, too. The warden - Blackwall, his name was - bowed to her and Cullen in turn. His manners were far more courtly than his gruff appearance would have suggested, Cullen thought. For a moment there, it looked like he was about to kiss Kate’s fingers instead of shaking her hand.

“Varric tells me that you’re looking for the Wardens,” Blackwall said, glancing back and forth between Cullen and Kate. “Afraid I don’t keep up with them much when I’m out recruiting. But if they’re missing, I’ll be joining you. We can search for them together. Well, and deal with the sky, of course.”

“Storybook hero, isn’t he?” Varric said, giving Blackwall a searching look. Blackwall frowned at this, and Kate quickly stepped in.

“We’re happy to have you join us, Blackwall,” she said. It almost sounded as if inviting him to a dinner party, Cullen thought. “Having a Warden on our side will be most welcome.”

“Sure it will,” Coll agreed. “And now you’ve met the Warden and the Bull, come on and meet the Chargers, Kate.”

With that, the elf grabbed Kate’s arm once again and swept her friend away toward the campfire. Cullen had half a mind to point out that Kate was tired and could probably use some food, but they were already gone. That left Cullen alone with the qunari, Varric, and the warden.

“Gentlemen,” he said. He turned to walk on into camp.

“Here commander,” the qunari said, reaching out a hand. “Let me take me your bags. That scout over there needs to speak to you.”

“Uh, alright,” Cullen replied, automatically holding out the packs. “My tent is over…”

“I know,” Bull replied. The qunari took both bags in one hand. He held them as easily as anyone else might hold a purse.

“Ah,” Cullen said. “And which scout was looking for me?” There were no fewer than a dozen in the camp.

“Over by the requisitions table,” Bull clarified “The one that looks like he’s ready to piss himself, he’s so eager to talk to you.”

This could have described any of the scouts waiting by the requisitions table, Cullen thought. It seemed that he was back to business as usual.

And that was good, Cullen reminded himself. His brief intermission in the Fallow Mire had ended, and work had resumed. Cullen certainly didn’t wish himself _back_ in that swamp, dealing with undead, worrying about the soldiers, arguing with Kate…

Cullen glanced back at Kate, watching as Coll cheerfully introduced her to some soldiers there. For a moment, Cullen allowed himself to consider Kate, to consider what had happened in the mire and what had happened after. Because something _had_ happened, surely - something more than the sum of its parts. Something had changed that had nothing to do with their argument or the mission or Kate’s list or any of it.

Cullen felt his mind hover over that mental paperweight. Then he drew back. He had other duties to occupy himself. And so Cullen headed for the requisitions table, out of the light of the campfires.

* * *

Kate tried not to feel disappointed when Cullen slipped away to work. Of course, he would have a million things to catch up on, she told herself. He was the commander of the troops, after all. He didn’t have time to sit around and chat with her any longer. Their earlier conversation had achieved it’s purpose, and she ought to be thankful for that. She shouldn’t sit around moping because she wanted to talk with Cullen some more.

Not that she did, Kate told herself. She still didn’t know what to make of that mission in the mire, and she certainly wasn’t about to try and sort out her thoughts in front of a crowd. Instead, she would put on a pleasant face and attempt to mingle. This would be like a party back home, she told herself - only with tents and campfires rather than tapestries and ballrooms.

With that thought in mind, Kate turned her attention to Coll. She greeted all of the Chargers at the elf’s behest, doing her best to make a mental note of names and weapons of choice (which was something Kate noticed seemed to matter a great deal to mercenaries). Then Kate settled her gear in her tent, changed into a clean shirt, and returned to the campfires to ask after Solas. The scouts met this question with a frown. Solas, they regretted to inform her, had indeed gone to Redcliffe. However, upon returning, he looked more solemn and silent than usual, and had subsequently disappeared. No one had seen him since.

“Did he say what was wrong?” Kate asked. And was something wrong with Redcliffe, or with Solas, Kate wondered?

“He said he needed to dream,” Morris replied. He picked up another dinner roll from a basket and stuffed it into his mouth.

“He needed to dream?” Kate repeated.

Morris nodded, his cheeks stuffed up like a squirrel’s.

“And what does that mean, precisely?” she asked.

“He’s sleepy?” Morris suggested, around a mouthful of bread. Only it sounded more like, “Eees fweepee?”

“So while we were all busting our asses, the elf’s been napping for four days?” Varric asked.

Vivienne sniffed. “And people wonder why I have such a low opinion of apostates.”

“Did Solas say where he was going?” Kate asked. She highly doubted the elf would be _sleeping_ for four days. Kate hoped he hadn’t just taken off. Perhaps the apostate had finally decided to let the Chantry-humans fend for themselves, Kate thought. She sincerely hoped not. He knew far more about the Veil than any of the rest of them.

“Solas said he’d come back when you came back,” Morris said, swallowing his mouthful of bread.

“Ah,” Kate said. She looked around the campfire - the very Solas-less campfire. Obviously, that had not happened. Kate supposed she’d give him until morning, then go speak to the mages without him.

“Crazy bald elfy elf,” Sera said, rolling her eyes. “Here, Herald. Forget ‘im. Come have supper.”

The elf scooted over to make room for Kate on the log.

“Alright then,” Sera said, “We’ve got sausages - don’t ask what’s in ‘em. I think it’s druffalo or wolf maybe. Spicy though, you’ll be feelin’ that all night. Buttered rolls - gone cold, but good. Baked potatoes, smoked ham, got a wedge of cheese left. Apples…”

As Sera named each item, Kate heaped food upon two plates.

“Whoa, there,” Varric laughed, watching her, “You sure you can eat all that, Duchess?”

“I could,” Sera informed him.

“Yes, I saw that,” the dwarf replied.

“I’m just glad not to be eating rations again,” Kate told them.

Once she filled her plates, Kate settled herself beside Sera. Varric sat on Sera’s other side, and Morris sat by himself on a flat rock. Cassandra and Vivienne shared a bale of hay, clearly the softest, best seat around the campfire. Vivienne remained as regal as ever, Kate noticed. She didn’t even blink when the wind blew a couple of embers her way. The enchantress simply looked at the sparks, and they shriveled up into cold ashes. Kate wasn’t certain if Vivienne was casting a spell, or merely willing the embers away from her fine clothes.

Across the fire from Kate, Coll was seated next to Krem on a log. The two passed a bottle of wine between them and laughed over something Krem had said. The rest of the Chargers packed in around them, on the log and on the ground in front of the fire. Just then, Iron Bull came over, saw that there was no room for him among the Chargers, and sat beside Kate instead. Kate scooted over at once. From across the fire, Coll waggled her eyebrows encouragingly. Kate shoved another bite of potato into her mouth.

So,” Varric said in, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Now that you’re back, Duchess, I gotta tell you the story of how we tracked down Blackwall here.”

“Is a ‘ood one,” Sera said, around a mouthful of food. “‘e’s as loony as the rest of all you lot.”

“Maker’s balls, not this again,” Blackwall grumbled. But in spite of the Warden’s frown, Varric related the story of how he and Sera had found Blackwall saving some farmers from bandits. The warden seemed quite embarrassed by his own heroism, Kate noticed, or perhaps he was just a little shy.

As soon as this tale was done, Bull decided to tell the tale of Coll and the Blades of Hessarian. Unlike Blackwall, Coll reveled in every minute of this, and cast significant glances at Krem throughout the re-telling.

As for Krem, Kate could not detect any particular interest on his part. He seemed amused by Coll - who wouldn’t be? - but he didn’t seem to notice her more or less than anyone else. It was a start, Kate supposed. Still, she imagined Coll would do better just to proposition the man.

Then, as the shadows turned to darkness and the first stars peeked out, the conversation turned to the business in the mire. Now it was Kate’s heroism that everyone was speaking of, and she reacted much as Blackwall had. Kate did not say a thing as multiple voices told the tale of how she and Cullen had defeated Widris and the Hand of Korth. Vivienne and Cassandra chimed in, as well as several scouts whose names Kate had, regrettably, forgotten. Other than answering a few questions, Kate mostly focused on shoveling sausages and potato into her mouth until she was full to bursting.

“That’s unbelievable!” Varric pronounced at last. “You can cast spells like that, Duchess? And here I thought you were kind of, well…”

“Worthless,” Sera put in, around a mouthful of potato. “Dwarf’s words,” she added, “Not mine.”

“Worthless?” Kate said, looking at Varric with a frown.

“Not worthless,” Varric hedged. “Just not really all that, you know, vicious. Your mark is useful, don’t get me wrong. But compared with some mages I’ve seen…” He seemed to stop there, momentarily at a loss for words. He gave a wry laugh instead and shrugged.

“Well,” Kate said, feeling a bit stung. “I didn’t realize I was competing with Hawke here.”

“Did you know that Hawke was a mage?” Morris asked Vivienne. “I didn’t.”

“You and most of Kirkwall, darling,” Vivienne replied dryly.

“Do not let it concern you, Katerina,” Cassandra said. Ever since the mire, the Seeker had taken to calling Kate by her name - but only by her full name. Cassandra allowed herself only so much informality, it seemed.

“You have my shield,” Cassandra went on, “Even if you are not the strongest of mages, I will protect you. The troops will protect you, too. Isn’t that right, Cullen?”

Of course Cullen had returned as they were discussing her lack of ability, Kate thought. That would be just her luck.

Cullen replied, “Um, well… We can spare a few soldiers, but…”

Kate sighed aloud.

“But it would be best if I could take care of myself,” she finished his sentence for him. “I understand,” she told the campfire in general. “I wasn’t trained for combat and I’m still learning the ropes. Here, Cullen,” she added, trying to distract everyone from this line of conversation. “I saved you some food.”

She handed him the second of the two plates she’d filled.

“Oh,” Cullen said, in surprise. “Thank you.”

“And here I thought that was all for you,” Sera said. “Was going to name you Lady Stuffs-‘er-face.”

Kate shrugged. At least her frustration at the Kate-can’t-fight conversation had overridden her concern about saving Cullen some food. Kate had worried it would look like she had been waiting for Cullen or favoring him or something like that. She didn’t want Cullen to think she was trying to earn his approval, either. Instead, Kate was certain that her gesture looked as casual as she had intended it to. It was, after all, something she would have done for Coll or Cassandra or anyone else.

Cullen took the plate from Kate, then looked around for a place to sit. Varric scooted over, giving Cullen a place between the dwarf and Sera. Kate sat on Sera’s other side, wedged between the elf and Iron Bull. The moment Cullen was settled, Sera tried to pluck a piece off ham off of his plate with her fork. Cullen frowned at her and pulled his plate away. Sera stuck her tongue out at him and went back to her own food.

“We’re going to have to work on that,” the Iron Bull said.

“If you can get Sera to eat off her own plate, I’m all ears,” Kate replied.

“No, not that,” Bull said. “The fighting. Shit isn’t gonna get any easier from here on out. And if I’m gonna be your bodyguard…”

Kate blinked at him. “My bodyguard?”

“Everyone was just sayin’ you could use some protection. That’s what I’m here for. Even so, you’d better learn how to fight. And I mean really fight. None of this whack-a-mage shit the scouts were talking about.”

“I’m hoping that once I learn how to cast around the mark…”

“Nah,” Bull interrupted her. “You can’t rely on magic. I mean, sure, use whatever you got. But you need to learn how to defend yourself when your mana or energy or whatever you call it dries up.”

“I suppose,” Kate said, doubtfully.

“Great,” Bull said, dropping his massive hand onto her back and giving Kate a jostle. “We’ll start your training in the morning.”

“Hah!” Across the fire, Coll laughed and pointed a tattooed finger at Kate.

“What?” Kate asked, frowning at her friend.

“And don’t think _you’re_ going to get out of it just because we’re back from the coast, Circles,” Bull said, raising his hand off of Kate to point at Coll. “You just got a training partner is all.”

“Circles?” Kate asked.

”‘Cause of the circles on her face,” Bull said. He pointed at his own face, making twirling motions with his meaty forefinger.

“This here is the sign of Dirathmen, yeh dumb shite,” Coll said, pointing at her face. “It’s not _circles_ , sweet Mythal the eejit…” She broke off grumbling and took another swig of Krem’s wine.

“Shit,” Varric said, snorting at Bull. “You’re _terrible_ at nicknames.”

“Coll’s training to fight?” Kate asked, not quite able to believe it.

“Krem’s been helpin’ me,” Coll said, tipping the bottle at the merc beside her.

“She’s a quick learner,” Krem added. Coll beamed at him.

 _Maker_ , Kate thought. That elf had it _bad_.

“So,” Bull said, elbowing Kate with his meaty arm. “We’ll start you on the basics, first thing in the morning.”

“Have you ever _actually_ trained mages to fight?” Cullen wanted to know. He leaned forward to frown at Bull from Sera’s other side.

“Yeah,” Bull returned. “Haven’t you?”

Cullen pressed his lips together and said nothing.

“Our commander is just being cautious, Bull dear,” Vivienne put in. “A mage’s staff is a most singular weapon.”

“I’m not teaching magic,” Bull snorted. “Don’t know the first thing about casting and crap. But the Antaam has a whole division of soldiers who fight with bladed quarterstaves. Close enough to your mage staffs.”

“Yes, but they don’t shoot fire from the end, now do they?” Vivienne asked, arching a brow at the qunari.

“No ma’am,” Bull agreed. “But we’re talking about what to do when the magic runs out. Techniques ought to translate easy enough. Though I think we’ll leave off putting a blade on your staff for now, boss. Don’t want you to lose fingers.”

“Uhh,” Kate said, uncertainly. “That sounds…” she tried to come up with the right word for it. “Great,” was the best she could do.

“But I have plans for tomorrow,” Kate added, “Maybe the day after…”

“First thing in the morning for an hour or two,” Bull said. “You can spare it, boss. You’ll _have_ to spare it if you want to get any better.”

Kate couldn’t deny that. And if there was one thing Kate had learned from a life in a Circle tower, it was that education was endless. Far be it from her to turn down freely offered instruction.

“Okay,” Kate agreed.

Coll snickered, then elbowed Krem. The merc took a pull on his bottle of wine and said, “She’s got no idea.”

Coll replied by taking the wine from him and replying, “Not a one.”

Two spots down from Kate, Cullen glanced over at the Bull with a scowl. Then he turned back to his food.

Kate frowned. What was he so worried about, she wondered? Just an hour ago, Cullen had told her that he thought she was a capable mage. True, ‘capable mage’ didn’t translate to ‘seasoned fighter,’ but she was certain she could keep her spellcasting in check. She had been through a Harrowing, after all. How hard could this training be by comparison?

With that thought in mind, Kate said, “Thank you for the offer, Bull.”

The Iron Bull smirked, Cullen coughed, and Kate returned to her meal.

* * *

In the morning, Kate woke to a massive hand grabbing her leg.

“Hey boss,” she heard a deep voice speak into the darkness of the tent. “Time to get moving. You, too Circles.”

“Ah, feck,” Kate heard Coll mumble from the bed rolls right beside her. “Sure, but you’re wakin’ me earlier every day, I swear yeh are.”

“Nope,” Bull replied. “Day’s are gettin’ shorter is all.”

Kate peered down the length of her sleeping roll to see a horned shadow looming against a background of deep blue sky. She rubbed her eyes and frowned.

“But it’s still dark out there,” Kate said. “How are we supposed to train if we can’t see?”

“Get her bound up,” Bull said by way of reply. With that, he tossed something into Kate’s face.

“Wha..??” Kate sputtered as a length of cloth fell over her nose and mouth.

“Hurry up,” Bull added, before letting the tent flap drop.

Coll sighed, then a flame flickered to life in her hand. The light sent weird shadows scurrying to the corners of the tent. Coll then lit the lantern that hung from the center pole. In the far corner, Cassandra turned over with a huff.

“Do hurry along dears,” Kate heard Vivienne say. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Kate turned her head to see the enchantress was lying perfectly still on her sleeping roll, her arms at her side, a sleeping-mask over her eyes. Kate hadn’t heard any of these women crawl into the tent with her.

“Feck it all, Kate,” Coll muttered. “Why did we agree to this?”

Coll stripped off her sleep shirt, leaving herself sitting topless in the blankets. Kate didn’t have time to look away before Coll grabbed some of the fabric that Bull had tossed on Kate’s face. Coll proceeded to wind the cloth around her breasts.

“What are you doing?” Kate asked her.

“Bindin’ meself up,” Coll replied. “Qun-style. Oh, ‘twas all lovely it was the first time I did this. Krem helped me. Thought I was to die happy, I did. Only now I’ve learned, it’s ‘Sure, but can’t yeh do that yerself, Coll’?”

Coll snorted with disgust.

“What happened with Krem?” Kate asked. “When I headed for bed, you two were still working on that bottle of wine.”

“He sent me to bed ‘cause he thought I looked scuttered,” Coll replied, yanking the fabric around her torso in short, angry movements. “Quite the gentleman, he was.”

“Oh,” Kate said. “That’s…good, right?”

Coll stopped to glare at her.

“Say that again Kate,” the elf told her, “And I’ll bind yeh up so tight yer diddies will fall off. So help me I will. I wanna get _fecked_ , yeh understand?”

“Maker’s breath,” Cassandra growled from the corner, “Be quiet, elf, or I’ll pick you up and throw you out of this tent.”

“I’d like teh see yeh try, yeh slag,” Coll replied.

“Coll!” Kate said. “I’m so sorry, Cassandra. Just…bind me up, Coll, and let’s get out of here.”

Cassandra glared at them both, then stuffed her head back under her pillow. Coll turned to Kate.

“Shirt off,” she told her.

Kate did as she was asked, and turned her bare back to Coll. Coll rose to her knees and swiftly wrapped the fabric around Kate, explaining her winding as she did so.

“Middle of the thing goes over the back of yer neck. Now cross in front, under each breast… yep. Then round the middle, like so… Tie and done. Tuck it up in there. And that’ll do. Not like yer knobs’ll do much bouncin’ around anyhow, two-backed wench as yeh are.”

Kate blinked at Coll’s snappishness. Coll must _really_ have taken things with Krem badly. Or maybe it was sleeping on the ground that had her this crabby.

“Dears, _please_ ,” Vivienne sighed.

“Sure, sure,” Coll said, “We’re gettin’ on we are.” She paused, then jerked her chin at Vivienne’s chest.

“That one’d need at least three bindin’s to hold those fine knockers in,” Coll added.

“Coll!” Kate hissed.

As Vivienne lay there with her sleep mask on, her full lips curled in a smile. Apparently, the enchantress meant to take Coll’s comment as a compliment.

“Come on,” Coll said, reaching for the tent flap.

“Don’t we need shirts?” Kate asked, frowning. “It’s cold out there.”

“Kate-lass,” Coll said, grabbing the lantern. “The only way yer gonna get cold this morning is if Bull’s trainin’ kills you.” She paused, then added:

“And it might.”

“Very funny, Coll,” Kate said.

But Coll didn’t laugh, and Kate now felt very nervous. She grabbed her undershirt anyway, and slipped it over her head. Then Kate crawled out of the tent and into the dark morning.


	29. Shield in Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate learns to block and Cullen is struck

Kate lay on her back, staring up at the now-bright sky. There was a little patch of rainbow directly overhead, a kind of small, circular prism set against the clouds. Kate had never seen anything like it.

The Maker crafted such curious art, Kate mused. He hid his themes in the most far-flung corners of nature. To her right, a drop of dew held a similar rounded rainbow. The wispy clouds overhead brought to mind foam upon sea waves. And there, that bank of clouds rather resembled a pile of rocks. The whole heap appeared ready to tumble down upon Kate’s head and bury her.

Kate welcomed entombment, actually. As it was, she didn’t think she would ever get up again. But even as Kate thought that, a shadow fell over her vision, and a great, horned head blocked out the light.

“No…” Kate moaned, even before the head began talking.

“Come on, boss,” Bull said. “Rest time’s over.”

“I can’t do another round of drills,” Kate told him. “I’ll throw up again. I swear I will.”

Kate swallowed, feeling a sting of acid at the back of her throat. She hadn’t known that if a person ran hard enough, she could cause herself to vomit. Neither had Kate known that standing in a low squat for a minute could make her sweat, nor that swinging a plain wooden staff around for a half hour could make her arms feel like they were going to fall off. Kate would have liked to blame all her weakness on the hike from the mire and the fighting from the day before. But the truth was simpler than that:

“I wasn’t made for fighting, Bull,” Kate said, squeezing her eyes shut. “Casting spells, sure. Turning those spells against someone in a pinch, fine. But this? Bull, I hate this. You attack me and I panic.”

“And you’ll continue to panic until you learn not to,” Bull returned easily. “Get up.”

Kate sighed in frustration, feeling tears prick at the corner of her eyes. This whole morning had felt as if someone had torn a hole in Kate’s already frayed composure. She felt dangerously close to cracking.

“Bull,” Kate said, throwing her left arm over her face. “I really don’t think I can _do_ this.”

This had to be a new low, Kate thought. She lay on her back in a field, wearing nothing but her trousers and a scrap of cloth around her breasts. Her shirt hung on the post of a nearby fence. It had been abandoned within the first five minutes of training. Kate remembered Coll’s words about not being cold unless she died. Kate supposed that meant she wasn’t dead - yet. For in spite of her state of undress, Kate was slick with sweat, covered with grass and dust, and her skin glowed pink from heat.

Her muscles ached, but her pride hurt most of all. When Kate had begun training by lantern light, Coll and the Chargers had set to their drills like it was nothing. But Bull had pulled Kate aside and asked her to show him a block.

He might as well have asked Kate to conjure up a portal to the Golden City. Kate’s arms got all tangled up in the process of showing him whatever it was she’d come up with. It hadn’t been a block, that was for sure. Bull then asked for a parry, and Kate said, “And that’s different…how?” Bull then requested a riposte, and Kate burst out laughing. Bull had replied they’d begin with the basics. And by ‘basics,’ he meant holding the staff.

That was actually much more complicated than Kate would have guessed. According to Bull, clutching the staff in it’s center was ‘dead wrong.’ Running with the staff in her fist was ‘just asking to be tripped up.’ Kate didn’t have the heart to admit that she’d already tripped. Twice before, Kate had accidentally stuck the end of her staff between her legs and sent herself sprawling all over the ground.

So Bull had taught Kate to point the tip of the staff toward the ground, index finger along the length of it and fingers and thumb wrapped to each side. From there, he taught Kate how to twirl the staff out to a ready position. She had learned to hold the staff in her right hand, the weight balanced along the back of her arm and the pointy end over her left shoulder. This was, Kate realized, the same way that Solas and Vivienne dealt with the weapon. She now felt a bit stupid for not having adopted this technique sooner. But then, Kate reasoned, she hadn’t known better.

That part had been fine - interesting, even. But then Bull wanted Kate to run - with her staff held in the proper way, of course. That sounded fine at first. So they had run, stopped to learn a few blocking techniques…and then they kept running. And then they kept running, and running, and _running_ until Kate had thrown up by the barns. Then they’d run some more. Upon returning, Kate had collapsed. She firmly believed that her feet were going to fall off. And now, no doubt, Bull wanted her to run some more.

Bull grabbed hold of Kate’s wrist and peeled her arm off of her face. He looked down at her, his one good eye narrowing.

“Get up, boss,” Bull said.

Kate swallowed another protest, and with it, a mouthful of burning spit. For even as she looked up at Bull, her glowing hand hung over her vision. As if taunting her, the mark crackled. Kate sighed and frowned at the scar.

She might not feel up to this, Kate thought, but that was beside the point. She needed to learn to fight, and if that meant more running, so be it. Somehow, she would have to find the strength to get through this, one brutal training at a time.

“Right,” Kate nodded, struggling to sit up. “You’re right.”

Bull let go of her arm as Kate rolled to one side, scrambled to her knees, then managed to clamber up her staff to a standing position.

“Okay,” she muttered. “I’m up. What now?”

She took a fortifying breath, then looked up to see Bull regarding her with a pleased expression.

“What now?” she repeated.

“That’s it,” Bull replied.

“What? Standing?”

“Yup,” Bull nodded. “Just wanted to see if you had it in you to get back up again.”

Kate looked at him steadily, taking in the qunari’s cocky posture and too-knowing grin. She drew one long, steadying breath.

“Bull,” Kate said. “If it weren’t for the exhaustion, I would kill you right now. I really would.”

“Nah,” he said. “You need me alive. ‘Sides, you’re not the type for murder.”

“I’m tempted,” Kate grumbled, pushing a hand through her sweaty hair.

“I get that,” Bull told her. “But you’re doin’ real good. No, listen boss,” he added, when Kate growled and looked down at the ground. “You’re not a born warrior. I get that. You’re not very strong. Or fast. And your endurance is…eh, it’s okay. About average.”

“I’m hoping there’s a ‘however’ coming,” Kate said, archly.

“But,” Bull said, holding up a hand the size of a dinner plate, “You’re sharp. You hear what I’m saying and you get it. Gonna take a lot of training to get your muscles to catch up to your brain, but your head understands right off.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Kate said, dryly. “I may be dreadful at fighting, but at least I _know_ that I am. The scholar’s one advantage.”

“That’s more useful than you’d think,” Bull said. “I can train someone to stab a guy or bash him over the head. But I can’t train people to fight smart unless they have the smarts to begin with. It’s gonna take you more time than most, but you can do it. Only, the first thing you gotta learn is to stop worrying about how much it hurts. Just ignore the pain.”

“But it’s a lot of pain,” Kate said. She couldn’t help but pout.

“Yeah,” Bull shrugged. “So what? You can do this, boss.”

Kate looked up at Bull and could tell that he was in earnest. She offered him a weary smile. “Very well, Bull. And thank you for your time. This…well, it’s awful, really. But it’s also somewhat inspiring.”

“I know, right?” Bull said, grinning. “Now, I’ve got just one more exercise for you, if you’re up for it.”

Kate groaned.

“A reward, if you will,” Bull went on.

“I hope it involves sitting down and refreshments,” Kate said.

“Sitting? Sort of,” Bull told her. “But not rest.”

“Blast,” Kate muttered.

“I’m thinking you should test out that new horse of yours.”

“Horse?” Kate perked up at once. “I have a horse?”

“Sure,” Bull said, looking confused. “Didn’t you talk to Dennet yesterday? Figured he would have showed you that mare. He showed all of us, he was so excited about her.”

“Uh, well… I didn’t have a chance to ask about the horse.”

“She’s right there,” Bull said, pointing at the nearby paddock.

“That one’s mine?” Kate exclaimed. “Oh! She’s perfect.”

She was, too. And though Kate was exhausted and all her muscles ached, none of that mattered to her anymore. Kate tucked her staff against her arm as she’d been taught, and strode over to the fence.

By the time Kate reached the paddock, she decided she was positively in love. She set the staff against a fencepost, and reached out a hand. Curious, the mare turned her face toward Kate, her soft nostrils flaring.

“Hullo girl,” Kate crooned. “Oh, aren’t you lovely?”

And she was. The mare’s coat was a light, warm chestnut color, with blond points and a wide, white blaze down her face. Unlike the heavy bays in the paddock, this mare was slim and fine-boned. To Kate’s eyes, she looked like a ballet dancer standing among a crew of farm laborers.

“What are you?” Kate murmured to the mare. “Not a Ferelden draft horse, surely.”

“Never that, your Worship,” a voice laughed. Kate turned her head to see a young woman walking over with an easy gait. The woman had golden-brown skin, dark freckles across her nose and forehead, and her hair was shaved close.

“Miss Dennet, I presume?” Kate asked her.

”‘Seanna’ will do.” Dennet’s daughter grinned, shaking Kate’s offered hand. “And this here is…Oh!”

Drawn by Seanna’s arrival, the mare had come trotting over to interrupt. She stuck her head over the fence and nosed Seanna’s pocket.

“She thinks she’s a queen, this one,” Seanna told Kate, scratching the mare behind the ears. “Watch.”

Seanna reached into her pocket. She shoved the mare’s head away with one hand, and with the other, Seanna held a few slices of apple out to Kate.

“Go on,” the young woman said.

Kate took the apple with a “Thank you,” and held it up for the mare. The beast snorted at this change in her apple-related plans. She sniffed at Kate’s hand for one moment, as if such dainties were entirely beneath her notice. Then, she seemed to reconsider. The mare dipped her head ever so slightly, and carefully ate the apple from off of Kate’s hand. As the soft lips nuzzled her palm, Kate instinctively reached out and scratched the mare behind the ears with her left hand.

As Kate did so, her hand began to glow and spark. Kate froze there, afraid that she would spook the mare. But the horse merely flattened her ears back, her dark, liquid eyes darting to the side to watch the mark closely. The muscles of her shoulders rippled, but the creature stood her ground.

Kate remained still for a moment, then continued stroking the mare’s mane. Slowly - very slowly it seemed to Kate - the mare’s ears turned forward once again. Kate let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“There now,” Kate murmured to the mare. “I feel as if we both passed some sort of test.”

“Ah, see, I _knew_ she’d take to you.”

Kate turned her head to find Master Dennet approaching.

“Hello, Master Dennet,” Kate said at once, hoping the man wouldn’t reveal that he hadn’t seen Kate since the last time she’d been in the Hinterlands, several weeks ago.

“Hello, your Worship,” the man replied, laying a hand on the nearby fencepost. “Well now, I promised you a horse then, didn’t I? And here she is. Was to breed her, but she didn’t much take to the stallion. Seems to think she’s made for finer things than foaling.”

“Can’t say I blame her,” Seanna muttered. Kate quite agreed.

“An’ if you’ll pardon me sayin’ so,” Dennet went on, “I’m going to pass this bit of trouble on to you.”

“Trouble?” Bull asked. The qunari had hung back, but now he stepped forward, drawing the attention of the two Dennets. “You givin’ the Herald a problem horse?”

“No!” Seanna said as her father said, “No, no! Nothing like that.”

“Flame here is well-broke,” Dennet said, glancing up at Bull nervously. “She’s just… Well, look at her. She thinks she ought to be out leadin’ a charge against the Blight or racin’ dragons or something. She ain’t soured, but she’s hot.”

“Hot?” Bull frowned.

“Spirited,” Dennet clarified. “Trained for games, she was. We’ve calmed her down best we could, but she’s hankering for wilder fields than these.”

Kate regarded the mare as the horse munched a tuft of grass. Kate could see what Dennet meant. The mare’s ears flicked this way and that, as if scanning the pastoral horizon for the merest hint of adventure.

What a wild, brave creature, Kate thought. In a way, the horse was a better candidate for Herald of Andraste than Kate was.

“Flame, is it?” Kate asked Dennet. “A rather simple name for such a regal lady.”

“That’s the name she came with,” Dennet told her. “Named by the daughter of the fellow I bought her from. Girl seemed to think the horse had smoke comin’ off her when she raced. Suits her though, with those amber eyes.”

”‘Flame’ it is, then,” Kate said, smiling at the mare. The horse snorted, as if to challenge anyone who would question otherwise.

“What breed is she?” Kate asked.

“Talsin Strider,” Seanna told Kate. “Brought all the way from Antiva.”

The young woman said this as if ‘all the way from Antiva’ was on par with ‘all the way from the moon.’

“Ah,” Kate said. “I should have seen it right off. She’s a credit to her homeland.”

Flame tossed her mane at Kate’s remark and gave a great snuff.

“Now, you said you can ride,” Dennet told Kate. “But if you find her too much to handle, don’t you be shy about pickin’ out a different horse. I’ve got a whole herd of nice, steady Ferelden forders ready. Jus’ have your commander let me know when he’s ready to take ‘em.”

“Oh, yes,” Kate nodded. “I’m sure Cullen will want to do that soon.”

Kate assumed he would, anyhow. As she thought that, another idea occurred to her.

“I don’t suppose I might convince you to join the Inquisition?” Kate asked Dennet. “We could use a horsemaster to help us build our stables. We have fighters aplenty, but no one with that particular expertise.”

“Ah now,” Dennet said, sighing. “I would love that. Once used to trade horses from all over Thedas. But I’m an old man now, with farms to look after and charges and… Nah,” he shook his head. “I owed you one, Herald. You cleared out my lands, but now…”

“You’ve more than paid me back,” Kate assured him.

“Yeah,” Bull put in, “But you need horses, right, boss? I guess I could ask the qunari spies for contacts. And doesn’t Vivienne know some Orlesian chevaliers she could get horses from?”

“Orlesians?” Dennet frowned just as Seanna said, “Qunari _spies_?”

“We’ll think of something,” Kate said, trying not to grin. She had spotted a twinkle in Bull’s eyes as he spoke. Or, well, with anyone else, Kate would have called it a twinkle. In Bull’s eye, it was more like a trigger attached to a trebuchet.

“Well, now,” Dennet hedged. “Maybe if I…”

“I’ll go,” Seanna announced.

“What?” Dennet frowned.

“Why not, dad?” the young woman replied. “I know as much about the business as you do. And mum was just sayin’ I ought to think about the future.”

“She meant grandkids, girl,” Dennet said, frowning.

“So she’ll have grandkids,” Seanna shrugged. “A whole herd of them. And they’ll all have hooves. She can come visit me whenever. Isn’t that right, Herald?”

“That would be wonderful,” Kate said, liking this possibility very much.

“Aw, damn it,” Dennet frowned. “First the mare, now my daughter. Look, you,” he pointed a finger at Kate, who just raised her brows at him in surprise. Dennet caught himself there.

“Uh, Worship,” he said instead. He looked down at his finger as if unsure how it had gotten there.

“I mean… Look, you,” He rounded on his daughter. “You can’t just go off with the first army to roll through these parts.”

“Why not?” the girl shot back, folding her arms over her chest. “I’ll just be up the hill in Haven. And you know you’ll be up there visiting the stables as often as you can.”

“Perhaps I should let you discuss this privately,” Kate said, recognizing a family spat when she saw one.

“Yeah, you do that,” Dennet said, irritably. Seanna just jutted out her chin.

“Why don’t you take Flame out for a nice, easy ride?” Dennet suggested. “Tack’s in the barn. You can put ‘er through ‘er paces while we settle this out.”

A flutter of anticipation rose in Kate’s chest. Bull was right, she thought. A ride was the perfect way to reward herself after all that hard work.

It seemed that the morning had taken a very sudden turn for the better. The sun shone down on the forested hills, a rosy light flooded the valley, and Kate now felt very glad she’d decided to get up off of the ground.

* * *

Cullen crawled out of his tent, armor in place, eyes bleary, and hair…

He reached a hand to his head and sighed. It seemed that his curls were not cooperating today. Most days, Cullen tried to tame them. It was, perhaps, a vain and silly thing to do, considering all the many things that required his attention. But upon joining the Inquisition, Leliana and Josephine had offered to help Cullen with his ‘style’ as they’d called it.

Leliana had given him the hair-straightening tonic, Josephine had commissioned the armor, and well, it _did_ look rather nice on him. Though, wearing the Inquisition-commander armor reminded Cullen of when he was a templar recruit, trying on the full gear of a knight for the first time. He remembered being a teenager and looking down at his thin arms, rattling around in those too-big gauntlets. Cullen had told himself that some day, he _would_ grow into them. In a similar way, wearing the armor of the Inquisition reminded Cullen of what he aspired to.

At that thought, Cullen tugged on the curling strand of gold before his eyes, then tried to comb it back in with the rest of his hair. Today, it seemed that the fight for ‘style’ was a losing battle.

Speaking of battles, Cullen thought, he had an awful lot of work ahead of him. The watch towers required inspection, the patrols needed reviewing, and Cullen decided that he should probably start with breakfast. Or rather, he supposed he should probably start by speaking to Kate. As he’d been drifting off to sleep last night, he’d been thinking of her.

Well, not _thinking_ of her exactly, Cullen corrected himself. He’d been musing on the matter of her training. Iron Bull was quite right: Kate needed both a bodyguard and combat training. Cullen had wondered if he ought to have offered to train Kate along with his troops. He could oversee her progress, and she could help his troops learn how to deal with magical attacks.

But no, Cullen thought, that wouldn’t work at all. As the one with the mark, Kate needed to remain in the field. Cullen, on the other hand, needed to stay with the bulk of the army at the central camps. Now that Cullen thought of it, Bull fit the requirements of both bodyguard and trainer very well. Cullen ought to be pleased that a solution had presented itself to that particular problem. But instead, he felt annoyed that the solution had presented itself as a flirtatious qunari with massive pectoral muscles and no shirt. As for _why_ this annoyed him so much, well, Cullen didn’t want to examine that too closely.

Regardless, Cullen needed to speak to Kate before she left for Redcliffe. He only hoped that he could articulate his thoughts correctly when he did so. He didn’t think he needed _notes_ , exactly, he thought with a smile, but he did have a few things to say to her.

Cullen headed toward the other tents. By morning, the campfires were thin, pale versions of their night-time selves. A few scouts huddled around one fire, cooking eggs in an iron frying pan. Vivienne sat upon her bale of hay, as if she hadn’t moved since the previous night. Her horned hat was in place, and she held a small mirror before her face. As Cullen approached her, the enchantress carefully applied paint to her eyes, as if drawing small wings along her lashes.

“Where is everyone?” Cullen asked her.

“All over, darling,” Vivienne replied, not looking up at him. “Cassandra’s sleeping. Be warned: she’ll take the head of anyone who tries to wake her. Varric, Sera, and the Warden are having a snoring contest, so far as I can tell.”

Cullen listened, and caught the sound of a trio of snores coming from a nearby tent.

“The Chargers are all off in the fields, ‘training’,” Vivienne stopped her painting long enough to make an air quote with the pinkie finger of her right hand.

“Off an hour before dawn and they haven’t returned yet. Hope they haven’t finished off our dear Herald.”

“What, really?” Cullen frowned. He didn’t usually sleep in this late himself, but they had walked for a full day yesterday. He couldn’t imagine how tired Kate must be.

“When you find Herald Trevelyan, let her know I simply _must_ see her before she heads to Redcliffe,” Vivienne pouted as she glanced in the mirror to inspect her handiwork. “When dealing with mages, appearance is _everything_. She cannot wear mercenary rags to the negotiations. They will judge her poorly if she does. Now, I think I’ve found a few things that might fit her, but it will be a trick to make the outfit work.”

“Where on earth did you find clothes out here?” Cullen wanted to know.

“I’m resourceful, darling,” Vivienne laughed, looking up at him at last. “That’s why you brought me on, isn’t it? Though honestly, commander,” she said, setting down her mirror and makeup, “I find this entire rebel mage business a waste of time, don’t you? Perhaps you can talk her out of it?”

Cullen shook his head. No, he didn’t think he could talk Kate out of it and no, he wasn’t about to try. Rather than explaining this, however, Cullen just said, “Excuse me,” and headed out of camp.

As he crossed the farmland road, Cullen considered the wide expanse of fields. The Chargers could have gone anywhere, but if _he_ had planned to train soldiers, Cullen would have set up on the flat stretch of ground near the stables. He set off in that direction, and upon crossing the farm road, he found that his guess had been correct.

There were the Chargers, already at their training. Cullen saw Coll and a fair-haired, tattooed elf, both swinging magic staves around. There was Krem, his back to Cullen, as he sparred with an elf who wielded dual knives. Coll kept glancing at Krem, up until the point that Coll’s training partner tapped her on the shoulder in order to regain her attention. There were also two other men fighting with swords and shields: a pale, blond fellow and a scarred man.

Cullen paused for a moment to watch them all. They were well-trained, he noticed. In spite of the chilly morning, they wore nothing but their trousers. The women wore some sort of binding around their breasts and the men were all shirtless. Cullen saw all this without really caring about it much. After years spent in the close confines of the templar barracks, he had grown used to seeing soldiers in various states of undress - from full armor to shirtless, like this. He had long ago come to ignore such things. Like holding up a mental shield, as it were, Cullen blocked out the soldiers’ nudity and focused on their technique instead.

And speaking of shields and technique, something caught Cullen’s eye. The two men with shields had begun sparring more and more unevenly. The pale, blond fellow fought well enough, but his sparring partner had begun to flag. Why didn’t the blond fellow say something about it, Cullen wondered? Or maybe the blond didn’t know any better.

Cullen watched the two of them for a moment more, and then found he could keep quiet no longer.

“Oh, for the Maker’s sake, he grumbled, half to himself. Then, more loudly, he strode over to the two of them, shouting, “There’s a shield in your hand! Block with it!”

All of the Chargers stopped fighting at once, looking at Cullen in surprise. Cullen, however, ignored them, walking right on up to the sparring pair and pointing at the two of them.

“If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead,” Cullen told the scarred fellow, waving a hand at the blond man. “He’s going easy on you. You need to get your shield up. At least this high, you hear?”

Cullen demonstrated by holding his own arm up to his chest. The scarred fellow looked at him, gulped in some air, and nodded. “Yes, ser.”

“Something wrong, commander?” A very sweaty Krem came wandering over, sounding breathless. As he spoke, he wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. A short distance away, Coll sighed dreamily and cocked her head at Krem.

“Beg your pardon,” Cullen said. “I know these aren’t my soldiers, but–”

Cullen broke off there. He’d just noticed that Krem had breasts - rather female-looking ones. And yet Bull had introduced him as ‘my man, Krem’ at the campfire last night.

Not important, Cullen decided, blocking that thought aside and raising his eyes back to Krem’s face. He wasn’t here for studies in anatomy. He was here to correct some truly dreadful shield technique. Returning to his purpose, Cullen waved a hand at the sparring partners.

“Just noticed that this fellow has his guard too low,” Cullen told Krem.

Krem frowned at the scarred sword fighter.

“Stitches…” Krem said. “I turn my back for one minute…”

“What’s going on?”

The deep voice of Bull rumbled behind Cullen, and Krem turned to his commander at once.

“Stitches is back to his bad habits, chief,” Krem said.

“Of course he is,” Bull raising a brow. Somehow, the qunari’s good-humored tone held even more censure than Krem’s frown.

“What the Void, chief?” the scarred man grumbled. “I’m a healer, not a fighter.”

“Yeah, well, that one’s a healer, too, and you don’t see her whining.”

Bull pointed at Coll, who beamed at this compliment. Coll glanced at Krem to see if he’d heard. It seemed he had not. Coll scowled instead.

“Grim,” Bull said to the blond sparring partner, “You’re supposed to be keepin’ an eye on Stitches here.”

Grim answered this with a grunt and a shrug.

“You’ll care if he dies and there’s no one left to put your guts back in,” Krem said, as if the blond fellow had actually spoken.

“The shield is just so bleedin’ heavy,” Stitches said, scowling. “I can keep it up for a while, but then…”

“So get stronger,” Bull said, unsympathetically.

“Or try this,” Cullen said, taking a step toward the man. “If you reinforce the shield with your sword arm when taking a heavy hit,” Cullen reached over and placed the man’s hands in the proper position, “You won’t tire yourself out quite so quickly. You shouldn’t be taking all the impact on one arm anyway, unless you’re built like Bull.”

“Ah,” Stitches said, glancing nervously from Cullen to Krem. “Um…”

“Oh, he’s been taught a reinforced block,” Bull said. “He just saves all his memory for herb lore. Tends to forget the rest.”

“Well then,” Cullen said, wishing he hadn’t spoken at all. “It seems I should just let you train your own men and not interfere.”

“No, no,” Bull said. “It’s good for my guys to hear this from someone other than me. Sometimes they think I’m blowin’ smoke. But I know a thing or two about skirmishes.” He gave poor Stitches a pointed look. “Listen to the commander, Stitches, even if you won’t listen to me. You gotta lock this in your mind, you got me?”

“Yeah chief,” Stitches mumbled.

“Alright, back to it, guys,” Bull said. “Unless you got any other pointers for ‘em, commander?”

“Ah, no,” Cullen said. “I just saw the one mistake and called it.”

“You heard the man,” Bull said, jerking his chin. “Fifteen more minutes and then breakfast. Stitches? Block it right this time.” Bull pointed one long, bluish finger at the company healer.

“Yeah boss,” the man said, and he and Grim set into their sparring. They fought much more precisely now, Cullen saw.

“Sorry about that,” Cullen said to Bull, as soon as the soldiers were engaged. “I’m used to calling out errors as I see them. A good habit with my own troops, a bad one when dealing with another man’s soldiers.”

“Nah, it’s good,” Bull said, dropping a heavy hand on Cullen’s shoulder in a friendly manner. Bull paused, rubbed Cullen’s furred mantle, and remarked:

“Hey, that’s fuzzy.”

When Bull let his hand drop, Cullen discreetly took one great step to the side.

“My guys are good, but they’re not perfect,” Bull told Cullen. “You wanna call ‘em on it, go for it. Only remember, they’re trained as shock troopers, not as a legion. I won’t have you teachin’ ‘em to fight while standing in a straight line or some crap.”

“Understood,” Cullen replied easily. He paused, not really wanting to offer this, but wasn’t about to let his pride stand in the way of practicality.

“Likewise, I would suggest the same. If you see anything that needs work in regards to my soldiers…”

“Already ahead of you, commander,” Bull said. “Got a handful of notes for you whenever you want them.”

“Well then,” Cullen said, tightly. How very annoying.

No, Cullen thought, taking a breath. It was good. Cullen couldn’t catch every mistake, after all. His troops could use a second pair of eyes watching them. And Cullen need not take all of Bull’s advice just because it was offered.

“Write it up for me, if you would,” Cullen told Bull. “Just so long as _you_ remember that my soldiers are training to be an army, not mercenaries.”

“Understood,” Bull nodded. He glanced over the top of Cullen’s head, then back down at Cullen.

“You got a solid start here, commander,” Bull said. “I’ve spent enough time around the Antaam forces to know a good general when I see one. Between you and me, the breach in the sky isn’t the only reason I’m here. Your army worries the Qun, too.”

“Oh,” Cullen said. “Thank you. I think.”

At least, Cullen assumed that was a compliment.

“So,” Bull said, “You didn’t come out here just to give my guys pointers, did you?”

“No,” Cullen replied. “I was looking for Kate.”

“Hmmm,” Bull said, knowingly.

“I just need to talk to her about Redcliffe,” Cullen told the qunari. “Field notes, as it were.”

“Uh, huh,” Bull said, watching him closely.

“But I don’t see her,” Cullen said. “I thought she was training with you?”

“Yeah, she was training. It went… Oh, hey, watch it,” Bull said, pointing at the ground behind Cullen. “Boss barfed there.”

Cullen turned to see a nasty greenish puddle in the dust.

“She did what?” Cullen frowned at the mess. “Is she sick?” He didn’t like that idea at all. Though that would explain why she wasn’t with the rest of the Chargers.

“Nah,” Bull shrugged. “Just finding her limits.”

Cullen didn’t like the sound of that. “You do realize she walked all day yesterday?” he asked.

“Yup,” Bull nodded. “That’s why I tried to go easy on her. Only she’s a bit soft. I’ll get her toughed up though. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Cullen said. “I’m more worried you’ll injure the woman.”

“Living without a challenge is no way to live,” Bull replied. “Besides, you know how it is. You push the recruits hardest on the first day. See what they can handle. Then when they start to crack, you draw back and put the pressure on by increments.”

Bull had a point. That was, in fact, exactly what Cullen did with his recruits. But Kate wasn’t just a recruit. She was…

Well, she wasn’t Cullen’s responsibility, was she? Cullen had soldiers to prepare for battle, and Bull had this training well in hand. Cullen just wished…

Well, he didn’t know what he wished. Anyhow, he wasn’t out here for wishing. He was out here to talk to Kate.

“Well, there’s her vomit,” Cullen said irritably, “But where is Kate?”

“Right there,” Bull said, jerking his chin.

Cullen turned his head, looking in the same direction that Bull did. At first, Cullen saw nothing but a fence, and beyond it, a paddock full of horses. But then he spotted another paddock beyond that. And there, Cullen saw a familiar glint of red-gold hair. Kate rode swiftly across the fenced space, then pulled her horse to a walk, turned neatly, and trotted off in the opposite direction.

“She’s been workin’ that horse for a good half-hour now,” Bull told Cullen. “And that’s _after_ a run on the trails. Wish she had that kind of patience for the staff.”

Before Cullen could say anything to that, Bull cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted: “Hey! Boss!”

The way the giant bellowed, it sounded like ‘Aaae! BAWWS!“. The horses in the nearby paddock skittered away, tossing their heads and glaring at Bull. Cullen almost felt like apologizing to them for the qunari’s manners, but Kate looked up at once. She dismounted, and began to lead her horse up the path. For a moment she was blocked by the fence, and then she stepped out into the sunlight and Cullen saw her in full. Kate’s hair was ruffled by the wind, her cheeks were pink from the ride…

But mostly, Cullen noticed was that Kate wasn’t wearing anything but tight trousers and a scrap of cloth around her breasts.

_Maker._

It amounted to small clothes, Cullen realized. That was essentially all she had on. And he was staring.

That would not do. Cullen snapped his mental shield into place and glanced sharply away. Yet even as he did so, he felt stupid for his reaction. He’d already seen a great deal of skin and sweat and even nipples this morning, and he’d managed to ignore it. But somehow, with the Herald, it was different.

Iron Bull, however, had no such reservations. The qunari strode up to Kate, grinning from ear to ear.

“Looks like that horse is gonna work for you after all,” he said.

“I think she will,” Kate replied, cheerfully. “She’s a feisty one. But once I got her… Oh!” Kate drew up short when she saw Cullen. “Um,” she faltered, then seemed to shrink back against the horse. “H-hello commander.”

It seemed Kate was now aware of her undress as well. Cullen glanced at her just long enough to see that she’d thrown an arm across her chest and was nervously scratching her shoulder. This didn’t do anything to cover up all that exposed skin. So Cullen kept his eyes up when he faced her, his mental shield blocking everything below Kate’s neck.

“Nice work, boss” Bull told her. He held a hand out to Kate, and Kate smacked her open palm against his. What a strange custom, Cullen thought. Must be some qunari thing. At Bull’s gesture, Kate’s horse whickered and shook its head.

“Thank you, Bull,” Kate said. Her smile had gone a bit brittle now, and she kept glancing over at Cullen. She took another a step behind the horse, as if to hide from Cullen’s view.

“Did you need to speak with Bull, commander?” Kate asked Cullen, drawing him back to his purpose.

“Ah, no,” he replied. “To you, actually. Before you leave for Redcliffe.”

“Redcliffe!” Kate exclaimed, her eyes going wide. “Maker’s breath, that’s right. I need to get going.”

“They’ll wait for you,” Bull said. “‘Sides. It’s not even 9 o’clock.”

“Really?” Kate asked, looking up at the sky. “It feels like I’ve been out here all day. But yes,” she added, nodding at Cullen. “Of course we can speak. Just, um, let me settle Flame and then…”

“I got ‘er,” Bull told her, taking the horse by the reigns.

“She’s my horse,” Kate protested.

“And I got her,” Bull returned with a smile.

Kate chuckled. “Alright, just this once. But I refuse to become one of those ladies who won’t take care of her own horse.”

“Knew I liked you, boss,” Bull said.

“What, because I’m not afraid to get manure on my boots?”

“Because you keep standing up,” the qunari replied.

Kate beamed at that. And Cullen found himself instantly uncomfortable with this strange, easy banter. Maybe it bothered him because Cullen often reached for formality when dealing with strangers. Bull, on the other hand, spoke easily, laughed easily, and had already ingratiated himself to the Herald.

“Go on,” Bull told Kate. “Enjoy the rest of the day. It’ll be worse in the morning.”

“And then you had to ruin it,” Kate chuckled. Bull said, “Yup,” and then he led her horse away.

That left Cullen with Kate. A shirtless Kate.

“Oh, Maker,” Kate muttered, glancing down at herself. “Void take it. Where did I put my…ah!”

Kate strode over to the nearby fence, and Cullen made the mistake of watching her as she snagged up a wad of cloth. It took the shape of a shirt as Kate shook it out. She pulled it over her head - or tried to. It took her a few attempts to find the opening for the neck. In the meantime, Cullen found himself staring at the curves of her waist and belly. Her smooth skin shimmered under a sheen of sweat.

 _Mental shield,_ he thought, swallowing hard. _Mental shield._

Mercifully, Kate got her shirt on quickly. She then turned to him and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“So,” Kate said. Her voice sounded as thin as her smile. “You wanted to talk to me?”

He had? Yes, he had. Though at the moment, Cullen couldn’t remember why. Instead, he saw that Kate’s too-big shirt had slipped off one shoulder. He found himself transfixed by the smoothness of her skin, and did not think of anything else for a moment or two. Thus it was Kate, and not his own sense of propriety that called him back to the present.

“Oh, before I forget,” she said, brightly, “Master Dennet has a horse for you. Would you like to see him?”

“I..uh…” he stammered.

“It’s the big Forder right there,” she said, pointing into the nearby paddock. “The one by the tree.”

If Kate hadn’t specified the location of the animal, Cullen wouldn’t have been able to distinguish it from the other large horses in the pen. They all looked the same to him.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s…ah.”

As Cullen watched, the enormous beast lifted its tail and flicked a fly from its hindquarters. The thing was huge, Cullen thought, all muscle and bone and hooves.

“Hendir is Master Dennet’s best gelding,” Kate said, smiling proudly at the horse. “I helped pick him out for you.”

Cullen found that oddly touching. And yet, it made him feel even more awkward.

“I think he’ll suit you very well,” Kate went on. “He’s strong enough to carry all your gear, so when you ride out with the soldiers…”

She turned to look at him now, and her face fell at his expression.

“You don’t like him,” Kate matched Cullen’s frown. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed to choose for you. There are plenty other horses in the barns…”

“No, it’s not that,” Cullen told her, “He’s fine.”

“There’s the mare there, Bright Axe, they call her. Only she’s in heat, so she’s…”

Cullen really didn’t want to hear about mares in heat. And even though it galled him to admit it, he blurted out:

“I can’t ride.”

“Oh,” she said.

Considering how well Kate rode, Cullen felt as though he was telling a painter that he couldn’t see.

“I never learned,” he added, feeling ever more foolish. “Village boys learn to hitch horses to plows and carts, not to ride them.”

Of course, a noblewoman wouldn’t have thought of that. Though it was odd that a mage knew how to ride, Cullen mused. One would think that after so many years in the Circle, Kate would have forgotten how.

“Forgive me,” Kate shook her head. “I had it in my head that templars tracked down apostates on horseback. Obviously, that’s just one branch of the Order.”

“Not mine,” Cullen said. “I spent my years in a tower on an island…” He caught himself there, and did not go on. Kate nodded in understanding.

“Of course, the Gallows wouldn’t have had a stable,” she said. “How silly of me.”

Cullen didn’t bother to correct her assumption. He’d meant the _other_ island tower Circle, but he wasn’t about to name it.

“Templars from noble families are the ones tasked with tracking down apostates,” Cullen told her instead. “Since they can already ride, there’s no need to train them. And they frequently bring their own horses when they join the Order. Saves the Chantry the expense.”

“Ah,” she sighed. “My mistake. Then again, if you’ll pardon my saying so, you may want to learn. You’re supposed to inspire the troops, aren’t you? It won’t be very inspiring if the Inquisition’s general goes rattling into battle on the back of a supply cart.”

Cullen chuckled. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I don’t mean to tell you what to do,” she told him. “But it seems we all have something to learn. If I have to train with Bull, surely you can learn to sit a saddle. In fact,” she added brightly, “Maybe I could teach you.”

She sounded so excited by that possibility that for a moment, Cullen’s heart seemed to expand. He, too, thought that sounded like a marvelous idea, until Kate’s face fell and she wrinkled her nose in frustration.

“Oh, but I can’t though, can I?” she said. “I’ll be out sealing rifts. And you’ll be back to Haven.”

It seemed her disappointment was as catching as her excitement. Cullen also frowned.

“I doubt I could keep up with you anyhow,” he told her, by way of brushing it all aside. “Your riding is very…” He didn’t know how to accurately compliment her without sounding vaguely sexual. So he settled on, “You’re very good.”

“Thank you,” Kate said, smiling once again. “It’s nice to succeed at something after months of feeling completely out of my element. And while Flame’s not thrilled with the mark, she’s decided that she’ll put up with it - and me.”

“She told you this, did she?” Cullen chuckled.

“We’ve come to an understanding,” Kate told him, speaking very primly, as if taking on the manner of her horse. “She’ll act as the Herald’s mode of transportation, and I’m to take her on adventures.”

“An arrangement that benefits you far more than the horse,” Cullen observed.

“There’s no accounting for taste,” Kate replied. “Especially with Antivans.”

Cullen didn’t quite understand the Antivan part, but he smiled politely and didn’t ask for clarification. All this talk of horses and the templars had reminded Cullen of his original purpose. He didn’t much look forward to this, but he knew he needed to say it all the same. So Cullen took a breath, and turned to find Kate regarding him with a questioning expression.

“Is something wrong?” she asked him at once.

“No,” he told her. “Well, not exactly. I just… I did have a purpose in coming out here to find you. But now I worry that you’ll think I…”

Kate’s expression went from curious to worried, her brows drawing together.

“I wanted to talk to you about recruiting the templars,” Cullen told her.

“Oh,” Kate said. “I thought… But of course, you’re still set on recruiting the templars.”

She didn’t just frown, Cullen noticed. Rather, her entire expression shuttered.

“I’m not,” Cullen assured her hastily. “Well, I mean, I _am_ ,” he added, when she looked at him doubtfully. “But that’s not what I meant. Not exactly, that is.”

Kate’s expression remained guarded as she folded her arms just under her breasts. That was no good, Cullen thought, and not just because he’d upset her. Rather, when Kate pulled her shirt tight like that, the outline of her nipples became visible through the fabric. Cullen turned away, trying to find some other focal point for his eyes. He settled on a nearby fencepost, and addressed his next words to the worn wood.

“I wanted to apologize,” he told her.

“Apologize?” Kate repeated.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I can’t recall if I apologized. For my part in our argument - the, um, the one in the mire. I think I may have done so yesterday. Or perhaps I didn’t. I can’t recall.”

He was talking to a fencepost, Cullen realized. Maker help him.

“I confess I’m beginning to forget what we said and didn’t say,” Kate admitted. “It was all sort of a mess, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but I’m not entirely sorry for it,” Cullen said, looking over at her at last. “I mean, better to say your piece and move on and all that.” He felt this wasn’t going quite the way he’d hoped, so Cullen cleared his throat, and then added:

“I shouldn’t have shouted. I prefer not to lose my temper.”

That was an understatement of the first order. But Cullen did not expand upon it. Instead, he said:

“Furthermore, I realize that I should have brought up the matter of recruiting the templars at another time and another place. It should have been done around the war table, with you and Leliana and Josephine and Cassandra and I all in attendance. But pulling you aside in the mire and asking you about it privately? And right before a mission, too. That was bad form on my part. I don’t know what I was thinking. Well,” he sighed, “I _do_ know what I was thinking. I’m just reluctant to say it.”

Cullen turned to find Kate frowning at him.

“And what were you thinking?” she asked slowly, as if not quite wanting to hear the answer.

“I had hoped to secure your agreement,” Cullen told her. “I had hoped to convince you to recruit the templars before we discussed the matter with Leliana.”

“What does Leliana have to do with it?” Kate wanted to know.

“Leliana is determined to recruit the mages,” Cullen said with a sigh. “That’s been her wish for a while now. The Conclave explosion just turned that wish into a mission for her.”

“Really?” Kate asked. “I had no idea she was sympathetic to the rebellion.”

“She has mage…friends,” Cullen said. That was all he said, too. He had no wish to discuss _those_ details either.

“I didn’t realize,” Kate said, wonderingly. “Leliana and I haven’t spoken much about - well, anything, really.”

And now Kate would probably ask Leliana about her pro-mage sympathies at the first opportunity. Cullen refused to worry about that. Leliana wasn’t one to gossip, he assured himself.

“Yes, well,” Cullen hurried on, “Her preferences on the mage-templar matter are clear. Josephine supports the Chantry, but she’s so diplomatic that she’d make friends with either group. She’d probably set out tea and lyrium on a platter to welcome them.”

Kate chuckled at the image, though Cullen regretted his glib words the moment he spoke them. Tea and lyrium wasn’t quite as funny to him as it might have been.

“Cassandra,” Cullen went on, “Well, I can never understand her loyalties. There are times she seems sympathetic to mages and times where she speaks ill of them. Yet, she’s not terribly complimentary to the templars, I find. Anyhow, given the general state of indecision at the war table, I thought…”

He trailed off here and Kate expression hardened. Evidently, she’d cottoned on at last.

“So you supposed that Leliana and I would convince the others to recruit the mages,” Kate said. “And you thought you’d try to talk me out of it before it ever came to a vote.”

Cullen let out a sigh and hung his head. He then looked up at Kate through his lashes.

“Quite so,” he said. “It was badly done of me, and I’m sorry.”

Kate’s mouth dropped open slightly. Then she stammered “I…uh, oh,” and looked away. Cullen inwardly sighed. He supposed he must have upset her, in spite of his apology.

“I’m not proud of that,” he tried again, “but I did think…” But he’d already explained himself, so he supposed he couldn’t do anything but apologize once more:

“I am sorry,” he said.

There was a long pause, in which Cullen thought Kate might say nothing in return. But then, quite suddenly, she turned to him and said:

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

They held each other’s eyes for a moment, then as if by silent agreement, both of them glanced away. Cullen stared at the fencepost. Kate scratched her shoulder.

And that, Cullen supposed, was their moment of reconciliation. A pity that apology and acceptance didn’t bestow an instant sense of ease.

“For the record,” Cullen went on, when the silence became unbearable, “I don’t want to recruit the templars because I dislike the mages. I’m just worried about _that_.”

He turned and waved his hand wide as he spoke. Kate followed his gesture with her eyes. She looked at the pastures, at the grazing druffalo, and at the barns, then back to Cullen.

“Yes, well,” he said irritably, “Obviously I didn’t mean the compost heap. It seems Bull and the Chargers have gone. But they’re the reason why I want to recruit the templars.”

“You want to recruit the templars because of Bull?” Kate cocked her head at him.

“Because I know how to _train_ templars,” Cullen said. “Just as Bull knows how to train his Chargers. I didn’t ask you to recruit the templars just to be contrary. It’s because I’m thinking to the future - the Inquisition’s future. I’m the commander. And I know the way templars are trained. I know how they think, how they fight. I know their strengths and their weaknesses, too.”

Yes, Cullen thought silently. He understood a templar’s weakness better than anyone.

“I could make an army out of the templars in two month’s time,” Cullen went on, “No, not even that long. But if we recruit the mages…”

Cullen trailed off there. He couldn’t continue without heading into dangerous ground. Judging from the look on Kate’s face, however, he was already there.

“You think mages can’t fight?” she asked.

“Oh, I know they can fight,” Cullen replied. “They just aren’t trained to fight as a unit. And getting them to that point will be a headache, to say the least. Combining spell training with traditional combat? I’d have to ask for help with that part. Probably from _Bull_.”

Cullen sighed. He had options there, he realized. He just didn’t like them.

“Would that be so terrible?” Kate asked him. “To ask for help?”

“Well, no,” Cullen said, “It’s just with mages in the ranks, it’s an entirely different game. And then I’ll be constantly worrying about blood mages and possessions…”

Kate made a sound that rivaled one of Cassandra’s expressions of disgust.

“Alright, yes,” Cullen said tightly, “Not all mages are a danger. But the breach– Kate, you weren’t there to see it. Between the demons and the abominations and the abysmal fighting skills, we lost many of the remaining mages in that first day alone.”

“I see,” Kate said. She said this tightly, and Cullen wasn’t sure if she saw at all.

“What I’m trying to say is this,” Cullen told her, “If you’re asking me, as the commander of the Inquisition forces, if I’d rather fill the ranks with veteran knight-templars or a host of untried rebel mages… Well, I know which recruits I’d prefer.”

“Any commander would say the same, I expect,” Kate murmured.

Her eyes narrowed as she considered the now-empty training field, and Cullen couldn’t quite read her expression.

“It’s not that I wish the mages ill…” Cullen began.

“You just don’t want to deal with them,” Kate finished for him, not turning her head.

Cullen wouldn’t have put it _quite_ like that. He couldn’t think how to say it any better, though. Kate scowled at his silence.

“I know _I’m_ not much good at fighting,” she said at last. “But some mages are. Think of Hawke or the Hero of Ferelden. Even Coll is pretty good. And that other apostate in Bull’s– Oh, blast.”

Kate looked at Cullen in alarm. “I wasn’t supposed to mention the apostate. Please don’t say anything.”

In spite of everything, Cullen chuckled. Who on earth would he tell, he wondered? More to the point, who would care?

“Their secret is safe with me,” Cullen assured Kate. “But you can see my concern, can’t you? Farmers may not know which end of a sword to hold, but at least they’re sturdy. Mages are…” He trailed off when Kate’s eyes filled with hurt.

“I didn’t mean…” he began, but he realized he’d already stuck his foot in it.

“Mages aren’t very strong,” Kate said, rubbing her arm with her glowing hand. “Yes, I see your point.”

“I meant no offense,” he said.

Kate shrugged one shoulder. “If the boot fits,” she murmured.

Cullen considered that he ought to have kept his mouth shut. But on the other hand, he realized that he _liked_ speaking with Kate, even when it was difficult to do so. When they argued, he felt like he was sparring a well-matched partner, for she always kept him on his toes. And when they spoke easily, it was quite pleasant. Minutes flew by and Cullen didn’t even regret their passing.

“I hear your concerns,” Kate said, turning to him. “But consider mine: I have to get the breach shut. Somehow, I’ve got to power up this mark, point it at the biggest rift of all, and hope I don’t get killed in the process. That’s _my_ primary concern. Now, you tell me we could get the templars together and weaken the breach? That sounds like tearing the cloth I’m trying to stitch back up. But you tell me that I could have a host of mages at my back, studying the rift and supporting my power? _That_ sounds much better. And considering that if this goes badly, I might not live to try again…”

Kate looked off at the fields, the wind lifting the strands of her hair. And Cullen found he had nothing to say to that. Of course, that would be her first concern. Compared to closing the breach, building the Inquisition army was an afterthought. And to Kate, the aid of the mages would be as familiar and welcome as the templar recruits would be to him. Cullen wondered how he’d failed to think of that before. As he tried to find words to reassure her, Kate turned to him, her expression somehow both thoughtful and troubled all at once.

“I’m with the Inquisition,” she told him. “You know that, right?”

“What?” Cullen blinked at the sudden change in subject.

“I meant what I said,” Kate said. “I stand with the Inquisition. I sympathize with the rebellion, but the mark fell to me. I won’t leave the Inquisition when you need me. I just wanted you to know that, Cullen.”

“Ah,” Cullen said. That pledge of loyalty meant far more to him than he was able to articulate. So he said only:

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I should like to help the mages, eventually,” Kate said. “Once the breach is closed, that is. Maybe we could intervene with the Chantry on their behalf? Or maybe some of them would like to join us. But whatever we do,” she went on, before Cullen could answer, “it will have to come later. I have my orders: make contact with the templars and the mages. That’s one mission down, one to go.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “And once you’ve made contact with the mages, we’ll return to the war table and decide what to do next. Together. I promise that I won’t try and corner you again. I mean…” he shook his head. “To try and make up your mind for you.”

“As if you could,” Kate said, giving him a cheeky grin. “You’ve made the mistake of giving me a vote, and I plan to use it.”

“To excellent effect, so far,” he told her. “No, truly,” Cullen added, when Kate looked at him skeptically. “You’re the one taking the most risk, Kate. We all know that. Your voice carries the most weight in the Inquisition, and for good reason.”

“Oh,” Kate flinched. “Now there’s a frightening thought.”

Cullen couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking. He smiled at her all the same, trying to reassure her. Kate looked at him searchingly, her eyes studying his face.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she said at last.

Cullen nodded and cleared his throat. That moment of silent examination had made him feel extremely exposed.

“We should probably head back,” he told her. “Vivienne wanted you back at camp. Something to do with clothes, I understand.”

“Just clothes?” Kate laughed. “I would have expected another earful about Grand Enchanter Fiona.”

With that, Kate grabbed her staff - a massive, heavy thing - and twirled it up against her forearm gracefully. Cullen blinked.

“Impressive,” he said, nodding at the staff.

“Why, thank you,” Kate replied. “That’s my best move, and I’m quite proud of it.”

Cullen chuckled. “You know,” he said, as they walked along through the swaying grass, “Vivienne probably _will_ give you earful about Fiona. Just to warn you.”

“Of course,” Kate sighed.

“And yet, you don’t seem to mind Vivienne’s interference,” Cullen observed.

“Why would I mind?” Kate replied with a shrug. “Vivienne is a proud woman who has worked hard for every scrap of recognition she’s been given. She has little sympathy for those who count themselves victims. I don’t entirely agree with her, but I can see her point.”

She sighed, then added, “I also see that not everyone had her opportunities. Or mine. And so here I am, wishing I could help everyone in the world and having no idea where to start.”

“The breach is a start,” Cullen told her.

“True enough,” Kate nodded.

“And the Inquisition is a start,” Cullen added. “I mean, you suggested appealing to the Chantry on behalf of the mages, but why bother with them? Why not look to the Inquisition?”

“What do you mean?” Kate asked, glancing over at him.

“You said it yourself yesterday,” Cullen told her. “The Chantry’s done nothing to help mages. Worse than nothing in some cases. Now they argue over who’s going to be Divine while there’s a great hole in the sky. They’re no help in a time like this. Do you honestly think they’ll help the mages in the future?”

“No,” Kate murmured, frowning at her boots. “I only suggested it because…” She trailed off and shrugged. “Habits of a born-and-raised Andrastian.”

“The Inquisition would be a much better chance for the mages,” Cullen told her.

“Now you _want_ me to recruit them?” Kate asked, her brows shooting up.

“No, not… Truth be told, I was more thinking that we could protect them.”

“Once we have the templars, you mean,” Kate said, dryly. “And so the Inquisition becomes the newest Circle in Thedas?”

“I didn’t mean it quite like that,” Cullen said.

“Didn’t you?” Kate asked, raising a brow.

“No.” Cullen ran a hand through his hair, as if that could make his thoughts clearer.

“I’m just thinking that once the breach is sealed, we ought to… I don’t know. _Fix_ this. The Inquisition can act where the Chantry cannot. That’s why Justinia signed the charter in the first place, why she wanted to recruit an army. With the templars rebelling and the Seekers all missing, the Chantry had lost all its muscle.”

“She planned to strong-arm everyone into peace?” Kate asked him. “When has that ever worked?”

“It worked for the original Inquisition,” Cullen said. “Well, not the strong-arming part. I just mean that the Inquisition could step in when no one else is willing to. I know the first Inquisition had a reputation for being filled with zealots and crazed demon-hunters, but the truth is far more complex than that. There is evidence that the their ranks comprised of mages and warriors both. Of elves and humans and there’s even records of a few dwarves and a qunari among them.”

“So, not unlike our Inquisition,” Kate said.

“Exactly so,” Cullen replied. “The original Inquisition became the templars and the Seekers, but that was later. The early Inquisition simply tried to stop the use of dangerous magic, to track down blood mages and demons and restore order. And they crossed swords with just about every group in southern Thedas in the process. Got into a lot of trouble trying to keep the peace. I did some research after Cassandra recruited me, and the picture that emerges is just fascinating.”

Cullen’s steps slowed as he spoke, and Kate matched his thoughtful pace.

“Did you know, for example,” Cullen said, “that the original Inquisition always conducted trials - ad hoc, of course - but trials, before any execution? And consider, this was in the dark ages after the Tevinter Imperium fell, just after Andraste was executed. It was a chaotic time - far worse than this, if you can believe it. And yet, the Inquisition followed a code and acted with integrity. They managed to bring the world back from the brink of ruin. We could do the same in this age. There’s so much that we could…”

At this, Cullen looked over at Kate. She walked along beside him, staring at him in astonishment. Cullen blushed and trailed off there. Here he was, rattling on about obscure history, and Kate was looking at him as if he’d started speaking a foreign language. Qunlat maybe, or Tevene. He became painfully aware of his own peculiarity.

“Forgive me,” Cullen said. “I didn’t mean to turn this into a lecture.”

“Oh, no!” Kate cried. She reached out a hand, but didn’t quite touch his arm. “Please, go on.”

“I…” Cullen drew back at that. “You _want_ to hear all this?”

“Yes!” she laughed. “I’m sorry,” she added when he blinked at her. “That probably sounds strange. But I like this sort of thing. Lectures are what I _do_. Or have you forgotten all my notes from yesterday?”

“Your notes, yes,” Cullen grinned.

That was right. He wasn’t the only one who sometimes struggled to find the correct words to say. And Kate seemed genuine in her enthusiasm. This was quite the change from the other times he’d lapsed into lessons on obscure Chantry history around the troops. Cullen felt his shoulders relax a fraction. Accordingly, his mental shield relaxed as well.

Kate blushed and ducked her head. “I only mean that if you have a lesson prepared, I’d love to hear it. My knowledge of early Chantry history is spotty at best. Our Circle Mother was more a prayers-and-silence sort, not a scholar. Where did you learn all this?”

“Brother Genetivi’s books, of course,” Cullen told her.

“Really? I don’t remember reading any of that.”

”‘Pursuit of Knowledge’ covers the basics. But ‘Destruction of Thedas’ has a more detailed account. Around page… oh, sixty or so, is where he gets into the meat of the matter.”

Kate’s eyes went wide and she pressed her hand to her chest.

“And now you’re giving me citations?” she teased. “Be still my beating heart.”

“Yes, well,” Cullen said in mock seriousness, “if you give me enough time, I’m sure I could round up some notes. Maybe write you out a list or something.”

Kate gave a loud bark of laughter, then bit down on her lip in clear embarrassment for the sound of it. She smiled up at Cullen sheepishly, but her eyes still sparkled with amusement - amusement and something else, something warm and elusive that Cullen could not name. It was more than a shared joke. Rather, it now seemed as though Kate had let Cullen in on some great secret. The tangled-up something in Cullen’s chest stirred and swelled and an errant thought sailed right over Cullen’s mental shield and landed feather-light upon his mind:

She was beautiful. Kate was  _beautiful_. He hadn't allowed himself to see it before, but he saw it now. And over the past few days, Cullen had grown incredibly fond of her.

Then, _Oh, Maker, no_.

No, Cullen thought. This was... No. He needed to avoid thoughts like that. After all, there was little chance that-- Well, he and Kate weren't arguing anymore, but that certainly didn't mean...

The tangled up something in Cullen's chest flared hot and squeezed tight, compressing his lungs.

It didn't mean anything, Cullen told himself, as he took a deep breath. Alright, yes, he was now staring into space like an idiot, but the moment had passed. Surely there was nothing wrong with admiring Kate's looks, nor in feeling a certain fondness for her as a person. Fondness lay along the path to friendship. And friendship between the commander of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste was appropriate - desirable even.

 _Desirable_ , his mind repeated.

Yes, well, Cullen thought, brushing that word aside. He knew something of desire, and this was nothing like. Desire clawed around inside a man's belly and gnawed at his insides. And yet, Cullen didn't feel quite so safe anymore. There was a reason he rarely took furlough, and it wasn't just the overwhelming work load. Cullen had a tendency to bungle anything approaching small talk. And judging from the look of confusion on Kate's face, he'd done so yet again. Feeling rather ashamed of himself now, Cullen cleared his throat and said:

“Better get going. Still a lot of work to do.”

As if that wasn’t perfectly obvious. As if Kate didn’t already know that. Andraste save him, he should have stuck with talking to the fencepost.

“Of course,” Kate said. Her tone was perfectly polite, but her smile had vanished. “I…Of course.”

Cullen supposed he could have said more, but he could not think of what to say. So they returned to camp in silence - a tense, awkward silence that seemed to stretch longer with every step. The only good thing about the walk was that it allowed Cullen some time to regain his composure. With every step away from the sunlit field, Cullen felt safer, cooler, and more stable.

He also felt saddened, but did not want to examine why.

Finally, they came within view of the tents. A scout turned and called out, “Ah, ser!” and Cullen silently thanked the Maker for whoever invented the chain of command. At least in the ranks, Cullen knew what he was about.

“Reports from the supply lines,” the scout said, handing Cullen a sheaf of papers. “And Leliana is on her way, ser. Messages from Josephine are waiting for you as well. Oh, and your Worship,” he added, turning to Kate, “Solas has returned to camp. He’s waiting for you just there.”

The scout pointed to the far end of camp. The bald elf stood near the river, staring moodily at the water.

“I guess Morris was right about him returning,” Kate said, clearly surprised.

“Morris usually is right,” Cullen told her. “It’s frightening, really.”

In fact, Cullen thought, Morris had been right about Kate from the first. Morris had noticed that Kate was pretty. Cullen had noticed it, too, although he’d tried to ignore it. He really ought to ignore it right now, come to that.

“Well, as I was saying,” Cullen said, by way of cutting off that line of thought.

And then he found he had nothing more to say. So Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and wandered away to the requisitions table. An awkward exit to end the awkward conversation, he supposed. Once there, Cullen placed his hands on the table for support, then hazarded a glance over his shoulder.

Kate had moved on. She crossed the camp with her staff still at her side, her hips swaying as she walked. Cullen swallowed, then turned around at once.

Work, he told himself. He had work to do, and he had already wasted a great deal of time this morning. Even though conversing with Kate was intriguing and stimulating…

Best not to think of stimulation and Kate together. Best to get back to his duties at once.

With that, Cullen picked up the reports before him and began to look them over. He would forget about this soon enough, Cullen thought. With the exception of one woman, he had always managed to talk himself out of passing fancies within a week or so. And that one exception was warning enough, Cullen assured himself. He was safe now. He had his mental shield in hand. And he would continue to block with it.


	30. Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Coll tells tales and Robert hears voices

This was a shite way to begin the morning, Coll thought.

Here she and Kate were, sitting on a bench in Redcliffe, looking out on the remains of the so-called mage rebellion. There were people milling about, Coll saw. All of them wore robes. All of them were pretending to go about their business. Of course, all of them were _really_ whispering and staring at Kate. Their attempts to hide it just made it even more obvious.

Kate sighed heavily and ran her glowing hand through her hair.

“I’m trying _not_ to make this comparison,” Kate said. “But I can’t seem to help it. Right now, Redcliffe is looking a great deal like a Circle tower. Walls all around and mages inside.”

“And the ranks and the robes and nasty sneers and whisperings in corners,” Coll agreed. “Ah, just like we never left, it is.”

“I thought that the mages would wait for us,” Kate said. “They wanted an alliance. They _asked_ for an alliance, didn’t they?” She trailed off, looking back over her shoulder at the building behind them. The Gull and Lantern tavern looked a bit shabby in the bright sunlight.

“Maker,” she said, squeezing her eyes and turning back to stare out at the village. “How on earth am I going to explain this to the Inquisition? How am I going to explain this to _Cullen_?” she added, more to herself.

Coll shrugged. “Simple enough,” she told her friend. “Say, ‘Oi, shems! Sure, but the rebels got stupider than afore.’ Real easy, right?”

“Real easy,” Kate repeated, but she didn’t look like she believed this. Coll frowned as a suspicion grew in her mind.

“And why are yeh worryin’ about what yer _Cullen_ will say?”

“Just…” Kate began, then shook her head. “No reason,” she said quickly. Too quickly, by Coll’s reckoning.

“He ain’t givin’ you trouble, is he?” Coll wanted to know. “For sure, the other day, it looked like he wanted teh…” Coll then made a gesture that she’d learned back in her Dalish days. The meaning translated well enough, for Kate went quite red in the face.

“No!” she cried. “No,” she said more evenly. “Nothing like that. I’m sure he doesn’t intend that.” Coll gave her a doubtful look.

“He doesn’t, Coll, he doesn’t,” Kate went on. “Truly,” she added, in a tone closer to bitterness, “if you’d seen me talking to him this morning, you’d know that was the last thing on his mind.”

“Mythal save your awkward self,” Coll said in sympathy. “What’d ya do this time?”

“What? Me?” Kate protested. “Why do you always assume…?” But then she sighed and shrugged.

“I was just trying to be friendly, but I think I confused him. Or bored him, perhaps. We were talking about Brother Genetivi…”

“Sure, but I’m bored already,” Coll said.

“Well, there you are,” Kate said. “So no, Cullen’s not… Anyhow, it’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Coll suspiciously.

Maybe it was nothing to the templar, Coll thought, but Kate’s pride looked bruised from where Coll was sitting. And Coll knew that Kate would be no fun at all if she started moping and mooning over some tight-assed templar who’d never give her a tumble. Far better to give Kate a good shove in the direction of that beefy-titted qunari’s bedroll. Or maybe that beareded warden, come to think of it.

“Eh, don’t worry on it,” Coll said, patting Kate on the shoulder. “Most like, yeh scared the man off with yer wit. Yeh do that, yeh know.”

“My wit,” Kate said, pursing her lips. “Right. I’m sure _that’s_ why Cullen avoided me for the rest of the morning. Wouldn’t even look at me when I left. Oh well,” she added with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I have time for…” Kate trailed off, looked at her hand and finished with: “Anything.”

Kate’s marked hand glimmered faintly, as if it were a lighted pulse, beating green blood from the Fade world to this one.

“That’s ain’t botherin’ yeh, is it?” Coll asked, nodding at the mark.

“What?” Kate asked. “No, not really. Not since that first day I woke up.”

“I meant more what came with it,” Coll said. “Yeh were a body to take all the world’s ills on yer shoulders afore this. That mark only made it worse.”

Kate nodded absently and Coll frowned.

“Listen on me, Kate,” Coll said. “Yeh should never borrow more trouble than yeh made yerself. That’s how I figure it.”

“Well, it doesn’t much matter if I made the Breach or not,” Kate replied. “I still am the only one who might be able to close it.”

“Sure, sure,” Coll nodded. “Jest don’t take on yeh more than that. These mages aren’t your burden, for all I can see you worrying about them. Just focus on the troubles yeh _do_ have.”

“I know that,” Kate said. Then the frowned. “But I can’t help but worry about them. I thought we’d be allies at the very least, not…”

“Not dealin’ with Vints over mages as if they was chips in a game of Wicked Grace? Sure but it’s got me steamed, too. Yet I’m not dwellin’ on it any longer than I must. These eejits got themselves into this mess. An’ they’re Fiona’s problem an’ not yers.”

“But she gave them _up_ ,” Kate said, dropping her hands into her lap in exasperation. “She acted like she didn’t even _know_ me.”

“Eh,” Coll replied. “Sure, but she must be goin’ daft.”

“Or maybe she was just too frightened to think clearly,” Kate said. “She did mention that Alexius ‘showed her a vision’ that chilled her blood. I mean, he must have said something to scare her. And would I have done the same in her place? Watching the frost roll in, and with so little money and so many to feed… Would I have done the same?”

Coll rolled her eyes at this very Kate-like display of self-doubt.

“No,” Coll snorted in reply.

“But if pressed, if I had no other option…”

“You went to the Conclave, Kate,” Coll pointed out. “Yeh didn’t hide here. Or have yeh already forgotten how yeh got yerself into this mess in the first place? Not that I’m complainin’, mind,” Coll added. “Now as Krem’s shown up, this is the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“Glad to keep you amused, Coll,” Kate said, absently.

“Oh, and yeh do,” Coll agreed, patting Kate on the arm. “Sure, but isn’t that the reason I picked yeh to be my sidekick in all things?”

“I’m your sidekick, am I?” Kate chuckled, and Coll was relieved to see her smile.

“Sure but yeh are,” Coll said. “I’m grooming yeh to be my familiar, just like the keepers of old had.”

“I’d make as good a familiar as _you_ would a keeper,” Kate replied. Coll snorted at that. They grinned at one another, but then Kate’s smile faded. Determined not to allow Kate to succumb to melancholy, Coll elbowed Kate roughly in the side.

“Sure now,” Coll said, “You know what I’m thinkin’ on at this moment?”

“Krem?” Kate asked, raising a brow.

Coll cocked her head. “Well now that yeh mention it, I am picturin’ how he looked all sleepy this mornin’, his face still red with the pillow-wrinkles in it. Ah, such a fine face it is, too.”

“Krem seems sweet,” Kate agreed.

“Stand off, Trevelyan,” Coll said, pointing a finger at her friend. “The lad’s mine. But no, as I was thinkin’ on it, all this Tevinter business reminds me of the first day I landed in the Ostwick Circle.”

“Magisters, rebels, secret messages, a perfectly blue sky,” Kate nodded meaningfully at the clouds above. “Yes, I can see exactly why it reminds you of that dull, stormy night in Ostwick.”

“Come on now,” Coll said. “Is that all you remember? The weather?”

“I recall you made quite a stir,” Kate replied.

“Ah, sure but I remember it like it were yesterday,” Coll said, settling in to the tell the tale properly. “There I was, marched inta the great hall durin’ dinner. All the eyes of all the mages suddenly turned and stared upon me.”

“It was tea-time,” Kate corrected. “Only a few dozen of us were gathered at that hour.”

“And there were candles everywhere,” Coll went on. “Thought I’d be blinded by the light of ‘em I would. Real candles, too. And yeh mind, we Dalish don’t keep bees. The hives annoy the halla something fierce. So we don’t get wax for candles, and we can’t buy ‘em neither, since they’re so dear, they are. We go by the sun’s light, campfires, or we do without.”

“I don’t remember there being any candles,” Kate said.

“Sure but you wouldn’t,” Coll scoffed. “So used to that waste yeh were. And all that silver! And the food! I’d never seen cakes like that. Was enough food to feed our tribe for a month, for certain. ‘Tis why yeh grew so tall, Kate, I’m sure of it. Yeh musta stuffed yer noble face until yeh had nowhere teh grow but up.”

“I’m not sure that’s how food works, Coll,” Kate laughed.

“True enough,” Coll nodded. “Otherwise, most shems would be tall as trees, rather than wide as barrels. An’ it explains this lot here, come to think on it. How was Fiona supposed to manage a rebellion when she couldn’t provide a regular tea-time?”

“True,” Kate murmured, looking out at Redcliffe once more.

“Somethin’ for the Inquisition to keep in mind,” Coll said, cheerfully. “Stock up on them little sandwiches with the cucumber and cream cheese and everyone will be happy. But back to me story. So there I was, in the great hall. And there’s the whole of the Ostwick mages at dinner…”

“The few dozen at tea, yes.”

”…and they’s all whisperin’ and pointin’,” Coll said. “Just like these mages here in Redcliffe have been doing to us. And here’s me, proud and glorious, in spite of the miles of chains about me neck.”

This, Coll noticed, brought a slight smile to Kate’s face.

“Miles of chain, was it?” she asked. “I recall that a single templar marched you into the hall. Your hands weren’t even bound.”

“So there I was,” Coll said, pleased that Kate was listening well to these deliberate exaggerations, “I’m lookin’ like a goddess of war…

“Looking rather like a drowned badger, I’m sorry to say,” Kate said, getting into the retelling.

“And I’m covered in the blood of the past keep…Er, of me enemies,” Coll quickly corrected herself, but not quite quickly enough.

“Blood?” Kate drew up short. “I recall you were muddy, but did you really have blood on you, Coll?”

Coll considered saying more, but decided to keep some of these details to herself. “Yeh know I’m teasin’ there, Kate,” she said instead. Kate didn’t look like she bought it, so Coll when quickly on:

“And all the Ostwick Circle mages start pointin’ and whisperin’ and starin’. Sayin’ things like, ‘paint face,’ and ‘savage.’”

“They were abominably rude,” Kate said, pursing her lips. Coll was glad to see that Kate seemed to have forgotten the mention of keepers and blood. “I felt ashamed to be standing among them in that moment.”

“And sure, but aren’t most mages like that?” Coll replied. “Take Linnea back in there,” she added, hiking her thumb at the tavern. “That hag ran off from Ostwick for teh be a rebel and now what is she? A Tevinter lackey. And proud of it, too, the wench.”

“That was an unfortunate meeting,” Kate said, frowning. “Honestly, I didn’t realize she disliked me so much.”

“She’s a nasty slag,” Coll said dismissively. “Not even that good a tumble, for all that pretty face.”

“Wait,” Kate’s head whipped around. “You…slept with Linnea?”

“Rubbish, she is,” Coll said, waving a hand. “Couldn’t get off a druffalo with a bale o’ hay. So as I was sayin’, there’s me, all alone in that crowd of whisperin’, pointin’ robes. Even the First Enchanter won’t speak to me. And out of all of ‘em, what mage stands up and greets me civil?”

Kate inclined her head in acknowledgment.

“Come on now, Kate,” Coll prompted. “Who among ‘em did the greetin’?”

“It was just simple manners,” Kate said. “I’ve stood on the edges of too many ballrooms…”

“It was yerself, Kate,” Coll interrupted her. “Don’t be modest about it neither. The mages were too afeared of ‘teh Dalish’ to speak to me. They were afeared of me ‘hedge magic.’ And I imagine they were afeared because I was prettier than anybody they’d ever seen.”

“That was it, of course,” Kate said.

“And yet,” Coll went on, “Pretty as I was, yeh walked up to me all the same. I’m givin’ yeh the stink-eye, and still yeh greeted me, Kate.”

“I didn’t realize that you were giving me the stink eye,” Kate told her. “I thought you were about to sneeze. That’s why I offered you my handkerchief.”

“Oh, is _that_ why you did it?” Coll said. “At the time, I though it was some token of shem greetin’. Later, I figured yeh’d wanted me to wipe me face clean. But back to the tale, Kate: there’s me, angry and cold and feelin’ so small against all them candles and fine silver. I’m lashin’ out with me eyes, since me hands are tied. And you just looked at me and said: ‘I’m Kate. Welcome to Ostwick.’ Just like that, yeh did. And then yeh said - I remember it well - yeh said: ‘I look forward teh what we’ll learn from ye, messere.’ Like I was a visitin’ queen or somethin’. Like I was there on purpose.”

“I wanted you to feel welcome,” Kate replied, as if this were something anyone would have done. Coll knew full well that it wasn’t, and that’s what made her smile.

“And do you remember what I said back?” Coll asked. “I said, ‘Sure but yeh’ve got more freckles on yer one face than I’ve seen in me life.’”

“Yes, I remember that,” Kate said.

”‘Twas dead rude of me,” Coll said. “I regretted it straight after, but I couldn’t take it back.”

“I wasn’t offended,” Kate told her. “Well, I was a little offended. But I knew you were just lashing out at me. So I tried to be nice in return.”

“But yeh weren’t just _nice_ ,” Coll said, pointing a tattooed finger at Kate. “I woulda hated yeh fer ‘nice.’ Yeh looked me square in the eye said, oh, how did yeh put it? Yeh said: ‘Oh, to be sure I’m a most freckled wench. I’ve been stealin’ more from all the mages of Thedas. And when I’m done, me power will be unmatched. And then they’ll rue the day they mocked the ginger girl.‘”

“Exactly what I said,” Kate replied, dryly. “To the letter.”

“Whatever yeh said, it were delicious deadpan, it were,” Coll said. “I laughed so hard at that.”

“You cracked a smile,” Kate said. “The merest hint of one.”

“And then yeh asked me to join you and Lydia fer tea. Yeh waved a hand at the table, and yeh had books there. I recall that. Books. Four of ‘em. Right next to the jam jar. I thought, ‘What kind of place is it that a body can sit down and read a book and eat a cake and not fear the storm outside?’”

“That’s why you didn’t mind staying?” Kate asked.

Coll did not miss the probing look in her eyes. And though Coll might have waved it off, she felt it was a bit late for some of these secrets now. She need not get into all the muck of the past, Coll reasoned, but it wouldn’t go amiss to tell Kate at least one part of the truth.

“I didn’t mind stayin’,” Coll said. “But then, didn’t I knock on the door to start it all?”

“What?” Kate asked, cocking her head to one side.

“I knocked at the door,” Coll explained.

“Which door?”

“The big door,” Coll said, raising her hand up to indicate a distance over her head. “The one at the end of the long bridge out to the island.”

“The gate?” Kate gaped at her. “You knocked at the Ostwick gate?”

“Sure I did,” Coll nodded.

“You… You knocked at the _gate_? You _wanted_ to come in?” Kate stared at her.

“And why wouldn’t I have wanted so?” Coll replied. “I was on the run, Kate. And afore yeh ask, no I don’t want to say what from. But I was runnin’, and Ostwick seemed as safe a place as any.”

“But…” Kate shook her head. “Alright, as you’ve said before, no questions about the past.”

She managed to silence herself for all of a second before she burst out with, “But Coll, the templars said…”

Kate stopped herself there, trailing off into silence. “They said nothing,” she murmured. “We all assumed they had captured you in the woods or something, but they didn’t, did they?”

“Course they didn’t,” Coll snorted. “I had to bang on the door to get ‘em to open up. Then I handed over me bloody staff and walked right in. But it sounded grander on the templars if they’d dragged in a Dalish apostate all by themselves. So they let yeh think it and I let yeh think it, when really, it weren’t that way at all. “

Kate opened her mouth. Coll dreaded the many questions her friend might ask, but Kate just said:

“Really, Coll. You might have told me this.”

“I might have,” Coll agreed. “I didn’t.”

Kate pursed her lips. “Was it worth it, though? You were free out there. And to give it all up…?”

Coll’s brows snapped together at once.

“Here now!” Coll interrupted. “Don’t you go comparin’ me teh this lot, Kate. I didn’t stand up fer ‘Mage Freedom,’ then go makin’ meself a new prison. I didn’t sell meself into slavery in exchange fer bread. Ostwick _was_ freedom for me, Kate, and make no mistake about that.”

Kate drew back. “I don’t understand,” she said, frowning.

Of course she didn’t, Coll thought, and now Coll couldn’t decide if she felt relieved that she was finally telling Kate some of this, or if she regretted that she had gone down this conversational path. But as ever, Coll wasn’t one to dwell on her choice for long. Coll hadn’t dwelled much on choices the day she’d thrown herself upon the mercy of the Ostwick Circle, either. She’d just done it, and lived with the consequences ever since.

“Yeh don’t understand,” Coll told Kate. “Most shems don’t. Most elves neither. But roamin’ from wild place to wild place ain’t a freedom if yer forced to it. The woods become walls sure as any city. And a clan can be chains as much as any prison could give. Maybe if I was stayin’ with me birth clan, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But as it was…” Coll shook her head.

“Them’s stark stories there,” she said, deciding not to tell them just now. “Point is, Kate, I came teh the Circle to be free. Free here,” she added, tapping her tattooed finger to her tattooed forehead. “Free in me mind. And as I walked out over that long bridge to that tower gate, with the winds whippin’ all around me, I kept thinkin’ this one thought to meself. I thought: ‘There’s books in that tower, Colleen. There’s years of learnin’ in there. Shem learnin’, and learnin’ of the People, too. So it won’t be a prison, unless yeh let it be.‘”

Kate’s frown had become less concerned, and more considering, so Coll went on.

“When first they took me inta that great hall with the dinner or tea or what have yeh, I thought I’d gone wrong. All those mages, pointin’ and whisperin’. They had fear in their eyes, just like all the elves in me old clan. But then this skinny girl with all the freckles in the world stands up out of her chair. She’s not wearin’ fear like they are. She asks me teh tea, asks me if I want one lump o’ sugar or two. And here’s me, never knowin’ the taste of sweet in all me life.”

Kate cocked her head, listening closely.

“Then yeh handed me a cup and said, ‘How’s the weather out there?’ And I said, ‘wet as a paid whore.’”

Kate burst out with laughter. “That’s right. The First Enchanter looked like he was about to faint from shock.”

“And so he did,” Coll grinned. “But you didn’t. You laughed so hard yeh made a snort with yer nose. Like yeh did just now. That’s when I decided you were to be my familiar.”

“Because I laughed at your dirty jokes?” Kate chuckled.

“Because yeh had the laugh in yeh to begin with, Kate,” Coll said. “Because right off, I could see that you had walked a steeper path than the rest. Yeh’d lived outside the Circle walls fer a time. Yeh knew that mages and templars were just one kind of folk, that the Circle wasn’t all there was to the world.”

Kate held Coll’s gaze as Coll shrugged and waved a hand at Redcliffe before them.

“The mages chose these walls ‘cause walls are all they know. But you have a mind what thinks beyond walls. And sure, but isn’t that why these Chantry shems call you their Herald? They could point yeh at the rifts in chains, Kate. Instead, they’re followin’ yeh as though you have all the answers.”

“Andraste help me,” Kate said.

“An’ if she exists, I’m sure she will,” Coll replied. “But teh point of it all is this: You and me, we’re not like these mages. So don’t you go worryin’ that you’ll up and betray yer Inquisition or turn coward or whatever it is you’re fearin’ on. Yeh won’t do it. You don’t have it in yeh to.”

“That’s…” Kate looked a bit too stunned to speak. “Well, thank you, I suppose. Only I don’t think these mages can be entirely blamed for…”

“Eh, just take the compliment, will yeh?” Coll said. “And remember, if yeh ever change in the least, I’ll beat the crooks outta yeh, I will.”

Kate swallowed hard, her eyes filling with tears at the corners.

“Thank you, Coll,” she said. “That’s very comforting.”

“Ah, sure, but what are friends for?” Coll replied. And she punched Kate hard in the arm.

They sat there for a moment or two more, looking over the secret note from Alexius’ son, wondering why the young man had invited them up to the Chantry for a meeting. Coll was sure it could be nothing good, and Kate looked worried about that, so Coll quickly changed the subject. Coll told Kate that she would rather have received such mysterious summons from Krem, rather than a dying Vint.

Just then, the tavern door slammed open. A motley crew of men wandered out, and Coll and Kate turned to them at once.

“Was it wise to eat so much before an ambush?” Blackwall asked Bull, frowning at the qunari’s belly. Even from here, Coll could see that Bull appeared to be a few months pregnant from all the food he’d eaten.

“Is it wise to discuss an ambush out in the open?” Varric said in return.

“We are not certain if it _is_ a trap,” Solas pointed out.

Coll rolled her eyes, as she did every time that Solas spoke.

“Of course it is,” Bull said, loudly. “And it’ll be nothing to worry about. You can see a Vint ambush a mile away. It’s all the flashy robes they wear.”

“Yeah, but they’ve got mages,” Varric said. “And in my experience, the gang with the best mage is the one left standing, ambush or not.”

“Ah, thanks fer the compliment, love,” Coll said, buffing her fingernails against her jacket. “Sure, but we’re bound to be fine, if that’s the case. Don’ know about Vints, but between me an’ Kate… An’ _him,_ I suppose,” she added, hiking a thumb at Solas. She took some pleasure in the way the pompous elf bristled for a moment before pretending to ignore her.

“Let us make way to the Chantry at once,” Solas said. “If we are to help free the mages here…”

“Free them?” Blackwall interrupted. “Didn’t they ask for Tevinter to take them in, as it were?”

“Take them indeed,” Solas scoffed. “Oaths made in fear ought have no binding tie. If there is any way to free the rebels here, then we must seek it out.”

“Dunno why we should bother,” Iron Bull grumbled. “This is why you can’t trust mages. They’ll do just about anything when their backs are against the wall.”

“That’s true of most anyone,” Kate said, shooting Bull a speaking look.

“Indeed,” Solas agreed. “Desperation is the worst jailer of them all.”

“Alright then,” Coll said, grabbing her staff and eying the Chantry at the top of the hill. “If you boys are done with your lazin’ about, then let’s go see what’s waitin’ on us in the Chantry.”

* * *

“Maker’s breath! It’s you!”

Robert scrambled to his feet. Or he tried to scramble to his feet, anyhow. Outside of his cell door, the boy in the wide-brimmed hat stood in a shaft of sunlight. The boy’s head was down at first, his hat shielding his face from view. Then he raised his head, stared at Robert with wide, pale blue eyes.

“You just about gave me a heart attack,” Robert said, trying to calm himself with the sound of his own voice.

“Your heart isn’t attacking you,” the boy replied, frowning in confusion.

“No, I…it’s an expression,” Robert said.

“Oh,” the boy replied. He nodded once. “A lot of people express things I don’t understand. Especially here. But then, they’re all changing out there.”

“Changing?” Robert asked. “Who’s changing? How?”

“All of them,” the boy replied. “Lots.”

Robert sighed.

That was right, he thought. This boy was mad. Funny how he’d forgotten that. But then, Robert felt that _he_ was going a bit mad down here. He didn’t quite feel like his mind had cracked, exactly. It was more like he had a hole in his mental pocket and his thoughts were slipping out like so many coins. The demon hadn’t returned after it’s last visit, and two days alone in the dark… Or was it four? Anyhow, Robert had completely lost track of time. He had nothing to do, and there’d been very little food. But then, Robert wasn’t sure if he kept nibbling at the same crust of dried bread or if a new one kept appearing each day. But it wasn’t exactly like he could complain to the management, Robert reflected. Likely, neglect was a good thing at this point.

“A very good thing,” the boy suddenly said. “They’re eating the stone up there.”

Robert blinked. He didn’t _think_ he’d spoken his thoughts aloud, but maybe he had.

“The stone?” Robert asked. More likely, he thought, the templars were feasting off their ill-gotten gains. Freddy, for example, seemed the sort to go in for nasty Orlesian delicacies. Nug fingers or deep mushroom and anaise pies and stuff like that.

“Freddy doesn’t eat at all anymore,” the boy said. “He wants to be like stone: hard and hewn and heavy.”

“Yes,” Robert said, cringing, “I don’t really want to think about Freddy’s stones or his hardness, thank you very much.”

“It’s all rotting up there,” the boy added, sadly. “Moss on the walls, mold on the bread. Anger glowing, creeping out of every pore. The growth is killing them.”

“Ah,” Robert said. “So, the templars…all have food poisoning?”

At least, that was Robert’s best guess as to what the boy meant by his ramblings. Well, if _that_ was the case, Robert thought, maybe it was better to skip breakfast this morning.

“Poison of the head. Poison of the heart,” the boy replied. “They ate orders for so long, the red was easy to swallow.”

“ _Not_ food poisoning then,” Robert said, trying to understand.

“One shut his mouth to the meal, opened his mind to the questions. His green eyes saw too much. They plan to punish him for it. Ply the pain and press out pity. He’s afraid he’s already turned, but he hasn’t. Not yet.”

“I…” Robert cocked his head to one side, then shrugged and gave up. “No,” he said decisively. “Can’t translate that one. I say, boy,” he added. “Here’s something I’m curious about. Are you real, or a figment of my imagination?”

It would do well to know, Robert reasoned. So long as he was trying to understand the lad, he might as well know if he was dealing with another mind, or with delusions in his own head.

“Your imagination is real,” the boy told him.

Robert nodded sagely. “I’m insane then. Good to know.”

“You joke about it to make yourself less scared,” the boy observed.

“And it works for me,” Robert agreed. “Also, I adopt increasingly precise manners the more uncomfortable that I feel. It’s the one concession to the Trevelyan upbringing that I’m willing to make. You could hang a Trevelyan over a fire by the toes and they’d make sure to cough into their handkerchief while you did so.”

“It’s armor for your mind,” the boy said.

“Well, as long as I’m trapped in my mind, might as well make it fortress-like,” Robert replied.

“We’re not in your mind now,” the boy said.

“Aren’t we?” Robert asked. “Fair enough. So long as we’re chatting, maybe I should call you something other than ‘boy.’ Is it customary to name one’s hallucinations, I wonder? Let me think. You look like a ‘Tim’ to me. Or a ‘Tom,’ perhaps. Something short. Common.”

“I’m Cole,” the boy told him.

“That works,” Robert nodded. “Well, Cole, what should we talk about today? Speaking of food will just make me hungry, so…”

“They’re coming,” the boy said suddenly, looking up at the ceiling in alarm.

“Not quite what I had in mind,” Robert sighed. “I was thinking of reflecting upon beautiful women.”

“I’ll bring help,” the boy said, looking at Robert solemnly and sincerely. “I’ll _be_ help.”

And with that, he disappeared.

“You’d be more help if you stuck around,” Robert murmured to the empty dungeon. But then, it was fitting that even his hallucinations were of the flighty sort. Robert was now realizing this was the longest he’d ever stayed in the same place since he was a teenager.

Robert stood, looking out at the dungeon, listening to the quiet. It was unnerving, that quiet. Robert didn’t trust it. The quiet could be an empty keep, or the quiet could be his own mind, silencing the world above.

Surely they wouldn’t leave him here to starve, would they? Maker, he hoped not. What a horrible way to go.

Then, suddenly, there was an explosion above. Or, at least, that’s what it sounded like. The dungeon door banged open, the loudest sound Robert had heard in ages. And it was _real_ , too, not the strange, echoing sound of demon-laughter down the corridors of his mind. Robert heard heavy boots descending the stairs, heard the crunching sound of metal armor banging against its own parts. And then, four templars emerged into the dim light of the dungeon.

Robert made a face. Well, _there_ was someone he had hoped never to see again.

“Why hullo there, Freddy,” Robert drawled. “How are your stones treating you today?”

If Freddy heard Robert’s question the templar ignored it, as did the other templars with him. So Robert propped his shoulder up against the wall in a nonchalant pose.

“Fancy meeting you all down here,” Robert said. “Sorry that the place is in such a state, but you know how it is. Difficult to tidy up when one’s incarcerated.”

“Oh don’t worry, Trevelyan,” Freddy said. “I’m sure I can make myself comfortable.”

To Robert’s dismay, Freddy wandered over to a table covered with a sheet. The sheet had probably been white, once. Now it was blotched with old red stains and had turned a dingy brown.

Freddy drew back the sheet, and one of the other templars lit a torch. In the sickly light, a dozen strange objects glittered on the tabletop. The metal shapes looked vaguely like a blacksmith’s tools. Only, Robert was positive they _weren’t_ blacksmith tools. Or at least, they wouldn’t be used as such.

“Ah,” he said, determined to hide his fear as best he could. “Good set, that. We keep one just like it at home.”

The templars all paused and looked at Robert. Two of the templars wore helmets, so it was hard to gauge their reaction. Freddy shook off Robert’s remark with a sneer. But the fourth fellow, a dark-skinned man with striking green eyes, looked decidedly troubled at Robert’s words.

“Are you sure about this, Ser Stanhope?” the green-eyed templar asked Freddy. From where he stood in his cell, Robert laughed.

“Oh Freddy isn’t sure about anything,” Robert said. “That’s what makes him such a good templar. He never stops to think things through for himself.”

The green-eyed templar looked at Robert briefly, as if uncertain whether Robert was joking or serious. Robert realized at once that this young man was a potential ally, or at least, he was a sympathetic audience. And Robert wasn’t about to play the victim before an audience. He decided he’d much rather play the role of the wrongly accused gentleman. To that end, Robert extended his hand through the bars.

“Robert Trevelyan,” he said, making as if he meant to shake the young man’s hand from all the way over here. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The green-eyed templar just stared at him.

“Freddy really ought to have made the introductions, you know,” Robert went on, “but it seems he’s a bit busy at present.”

“T-Trevelyan?” The young man gaped at Robert. “You’re a Trevelyan?”

“One of the many,” Robert chuckled. “I take it that you’ve heard of my family.”

“I… Sort of.” It looked as though the young man was torn between bred-in-the-bone manners and the clear oddity of being addressed by a potential torture victim. Freddy cut off any reply the templar might have made with a wave of his hand.

“Shut up, Trevelyan,” Freddy said to Robert. “This is _my_ party now, and we’ll be following _my_ rules.”

“The rules of good etiquette trump the rules of everything else,” Robert replied, sounding as snobbish as his Great-Aunt Lucy did whenever she recited that proverb. “Though, as you can see,” he added to the green-eyed young man, “I’m a bit at odds with etiquette at present, since I have no refreshment to offer you. You can drink from the leaky pipe here, but the taste takes some getting used to.”

The green-eyed man now looked even more uneasy. Robert took heart. The man had sympathy in him. That was an opportunity to scuttle the templar guard, and surely Robert could use it.

“But again,” Robert pressed. “I didn’t catch your name, Ser…”

“Barris,” the fellow said, absently. His brows drew together, and he once again turned to Freddy to whisper something. This time, Robert did not quite catch all of it, but he did hear the words ‘spire’ and ‘Val Royeaux.’

“Did we meet in Val Royeaux once?” Robert asked, determined to keep the conversation going. This was as much to connect with the Barris fellow as it was to distract Robert from the fact that Freddy was laying out some rather nasty-looking instruments in a row.

“I don’t believe I’ve been there in…I don’t know. Five years ago, perhaps? Was forced to go on pilgrimage with Aunt Evelyn. My cousin, Kate, wanted to go, but she couldn’t of course. Something about mages being too dangerous to parade them about the capital or something like that.”

 _This_ seemed to get a reaction out of Barris. He glanced sharply at Robert, and then nervously at Freddy.

“He’s a traitor and a liar,” Freddy said to Barris. “Don’t let his manners fool you. He’d knife you in the back if given half the chance.”

“I’ve never knifed anyone in the back,” Robert replied. “I would gladly duel Freddy for his treatment of me lately, but I believe in civility. As for you, Ser Barris,” Robert added. “I have no quarrel with you.”

“He’ll do anything to escape,” Freddy told Barris in an undertone. “Don’t listen to him.”

“Why of course I will,” Robert agreed easily. “However, I have good reason to do so. You see, Barris, it’s like this: I recently met a most beautiful woman by the name of Cassandra Pentaghast.”

“Cassandra?” Barris stared at Robert, wide-eyed. “You mean Seeker Cassandra?”

“The very one,” Robert nodded. “Recent events made us _quite_ close, you understand.”

That was a lie, obviously. Robert didn’t imagine Seeker Cassandra even remembered him after all this time, but it wouldn’t hurt to pretend they were intimate. After all, if this fellow was a templar, he might be impressed by such connections.

“The courtship was going well, I thought,” Robert said, still keeping an eye on Freddy’s progress with the tools. “Then I got dumped in here. I hope Cassandra’s not angry with me for my long absence. It’ll cost me a fortune in flowers to smooth things over at this rate.”

“He’s mad as a hatter, this one,” one of the other templars remarked from beneath his helmet. Barris looked at Robert, then at the templar, and back again.

Robert realized he was walking a dangerous path. He needed to sound charming and clever, not deranged and rambling. However, all this time alone in the dark and this dealing with demons had put him off his game. And the presence of those spidery metal tools rattled him something awful.

“Not mad,” Robert replied, trying to stay calm. “Just a man in love. Tell me though, Ser Barris. It seems you’re not entirely comfortable with whatever they have planned for me.”

“I, um…” Barris began.

“Stop trying to butter him up, Trevelyan,” Freddy said. “ _He’s_ the one who will be pulling the answers out of you.”

With that, Freddy slapped a long, slender tool into Barris’ hand. It looked rather like a pair of tongs, only sharp at the end. Robert shuddered, as did Barris. And then, quite suddenly, Robert remembered something that Cole-lad had said:

”‘Ply the pain and press out pity,’” Robert recited. Barris continued to look at the sharpened tongs and he swallowed. Robert, from his cell, said loudly:

“I gather this is the officer training for the templars, is it? I hear that once they suck out your soul, you never even miss it.”

Barris looked at Robert sharply. And in that moment, Robert was overwhelmed with fear. Yet the fear was not for himself. Rather, Robert felt he couldn’t stand to see Barris give in to his orders. If Barris became like Freddy, if Barris ‘pressed out the pity,’ then…

Well, Robert didn’t know what then. But he wasn’t about to find out. Instead, he felt he _must_ make Barris understand what was going on around here.

“ _He fears he’s lost already,_ ” Robert heard a quiet voice say. “ _He fears the draughts have drained him all away._ “

Robert didn’t entirely understand what the Cole-voice was telling him, but it had the ring of truth to it. All of Robert’s plans and pride went straight out the window, and turned to Barris in desperation.

“Barris,” Robert said, looking right at the young man, “Don’t do this. You’re not lost yet, for all that you fear you are. You’re not drained away.”

Barris blanched, his eyes going wide as he stared at Robert in disbelief.

“How did you…?” he began.

Freddy said nothing, but snapped his fingers at the other guards. Or, well, Freddy made a snapping-like gesture, but heavily gloved as his fingers were, no sound came from them. The helmeted guards advanced on Robert’s cell. Heedless of their approach, Robert gripped the bars and spoke to Barris alone.

“Barris,” Robert said, urgently, “Whatever they say, _don’t_ do it. They can’t be trusted. Ask him about Haven, Barris. Ask Freddy why he was just standing there as the whole place went up in flames.”

Barris now looked back and forth between Freddy and Robert as if they were tossing a ball between them. Meanwhile, the other templars jammed a key into the lock on Robert’s cell.

“Ask Freddy about who he’s working for,” Robert went on, “Because I swear to you, there’s a demon running around here and…”

But that was as far as Robert got. The two templars opened the door, and before Robert could even think of running or fighting, they had him by the arms. They dragged Robert out of his cell, then threw him to the floor. Weakened as he was, Robert sprawled across the stones.

Barris made a sound of protest. Robert glanced up, his cheek against the floor, and fixed his eyes on Barris.

“It was an envy demon,” Robert told the young fellow. “It’s still around here somewhere.”

“Envy?” Barris repeated.

“He’s mad,” one of the helmeted templars said. It was a woman’s voice, Robert heard, and cold as the stone floor.

“Indeed,” Freddy agreed. “You’ll have to press him hard to get anything out of him. Get to it.”

“Envy,” Robert said again, looking right at Barris. “That’s what’s running everything around here. Not surprising, really. Freddy’s sick with envy. Lots of templars are. Always wanting things they can’t have…”

“Shut up, Trevelyan,” Freddy said, kicking Robert in the thigh. Robert winced at the impact of armored boot on his leather-clad leg. That would leave quite the bruise, Robert thought.

“This is your last chance to prove your loyalty, Barris,” Freddy said, rounding on Barris and sticking his gloved finger in the young man’s face. “You questioned your superiors one too many times…”

“Did you now?” Robert asked hopefully, “Bully for you, Barris.”

“But that will not stand here,” Freddy said, talking right over Robert. “This man is a traitor, and he knows what happened at the Conclave. The Lord Seeker wants him questioned.”

“The Lord Seeker?” Robert asked in surprise.

Why on earth would that lofty fellow take an interest in _him_ , Robert wondered? Before Robert could ask, the two helmeted templars grabbed Robert by the arms, and dragged him up to the oddest angle. He wasn’t quite standing, wasn’t quite kneeling. Robert tried to struggle, tried to stand upright. Yet, the templars were like living manacles. As they held him fast, Freddy walked over to Robert, and leered into his face:

“How did the Herald survive the explosion?” he asked Robert.

“How did the who do what…?”

The question ended with a crunch as Freddy punched Robert in the face. The whole world exploded in stars and a sudden, sharp ringing. When he came to again, Robert was staring at the floor, where a splash of blood stained the stones. He couldn’t see out of his left eye, and Robert desperately hoped he hadn’t lost the use of it.

“Stanhope!” Robert heard Barris saying. At least, he thought that was Barris.

“This is how it’s done, boy,” Freddy replied. “I’m just softening him up for you.”

Robert winced, not much liking Freddy’s definition of ‘soft.’ Robert’s head was ringing, his face burned, and over all this, Robert heard Cole’s voice again:

“ _Empty tables, empty beds, empty stables. Suits of armor with no heartbeats. Bodies with no soul.._ “

“Cole?” Robert whispered. He tried to lift his head, but did not see the boy’s face.

“Now ask him about the Conclave,” Freddy was saying to Barris. “Ask him why he was there, or you’ll be right there beside him.”

“He can’t speak if you break his face,” Barris shot back.

“ _He’s caught between duty and pity, between envy and pity._ ” Robert heard Cole’s voice say. Or maybe it was just the voice in his own head, Robert thought. “ _His father needed only the elder son. Sent Barris away to the templars. He wants to go home with honor._ “

“So Barris is weak to envy as well,” Robert murmured to himself. “Are all the templars here like that?”

“ _Yes,_ ” he heard Cole reply. At the same moment, Robert felt, rather than saw, Barris kneel before him.

“Look here,” Barris said, his voice low and nervous. “There’s a host of accusations leveled at you, Trevelyan. If you’ll just answer our questions, we won’t… Maker.”

Whether that ‘Maker’ was directed at Barris’ own crisis of conscience or over the wound on Robert’s face, Robert didn’t know. Instead, he replied, in a near whisper:

“My father never wanted me either, you know.”

Robert couldn’t see Barris’ reaction, but he thought he heard a creak of armor as the man stiffened.

“I get why you’re afraid to walk away from this lot, Barris. But this won’t bring your family honor. You know it wouldn’t.”

“I…” Barris began.

“Shut it, you!” one of the templars shook Robert roughly from behind. “Go on, Barris.”

“ _He wonders how you know that,_ ” Robert heard Cole say. “ _He wants to ask you. He wants answers - to this. To all of it._ “

“The Herald is an enemy of the Order,” Freddy told Robert.

“Good for him,” Robert replied. “Shows good judgment.”

“Uh,” Barris said. “It’s…”

“The Herald has approached the mage rebellion for aid,” Freddy put in.

“Makes sense,” Robert nodded. “The enemy of my enemy and all that.”

“ _He saw her in the market square,_ ” Robert heard the Cole-voice say. “ _He wanted to follow the mark on her hand. But he’d been taught to march. He didn’t know how to stop his feet from following._ “

“Are we talking about Barris or this Herald person or what?” Robert asked Cole. It felt a bit strange to be asking his hallucinations for clarification, but the Cole-part of him seemed more insightful than the rest of Robert.

“The Lord Seeker wants to know what the Herald knows,” Freddy said, evidently unable to keep from running this interrogation. “What’s she up to, Trevelyan? How much does she know about our plans?”

“So it’s a she, is it?” Robert shrugged. “Is she pretty?”

“Uh…” Barris said, as Freddy just shoved Robert once again.

“Answer the question, Trevelyan.”

“Which one?” Robert wanted to know. “You’ve asked half a dozen now, and none of them make sense.”

“ _Questions on questions on questions,_ ” the Cole-voice rang out in Robert’s mind. “ _The Elder One is marching this way, seeking answers_.”

“Elder One?” Robert asked. “What on earth is an ‘Elder One?’”

Freddy may have known the answer to that. Or maybe he didn’t. Either way, his face crumpled into a sneer. Quick as a shot, he punched Robert in the stomach. Robert heard a rib snap, then felt pain explode in his side. The two templars dropped him, and Robert fell to the floor. Then more blows landed, on his back and his side. Robert heard Barris cry out in alarm. Robert tried to cover his head, his neck, his belly all at once, but there was just too much of his tall body for Freddy to lash out at.

“Stanhope!” Barris cried. “Stop!”

“ _Pain, prying, pitying. He wants to help, but he doesn’t know how,_ ” the Cole-voice whimpered.

“Why don’t _you_ help?” Robert shouted. At this point, he no longer cared that he was begging for aid from his own mind.

But then, as Robert saw stars across his vision and heard his own voice shouting in pain, the blows suddenly stopped. Robert heard a strangled gasp. His hands came away from his face, and he looked up to see Freddy staring down at his side in shock. A blade fitted neatly between the breastplate and backplate to Freddy’s armor, and blood ran from his side.

“Maker’s breath!” Barris exclaimed. The other two templars drew their swords.

“I thought he was unarmed!” one of them cried.

“I _am_ unarmed!” Robert protested, holding up his hands.

And so Robert was. But Cole wasn’t. As Robert watched, the boy stalked closer to the helmeted templars in the torchlight. And then, as the other templars lunged at Robert, Cole struck. One of the guards - the female one - screamed, high and long and shrill. She stumbled forward, then pitched face-first onto the ground. Cole’s second knife was buried hilt-deep in her back.

Robert gasped. Barris swore, and the other helmeted templar launched himself at Robert with a roar. Before he had taken one step, however, blood exploded from his throat. Cole had retrieved his second blade and used it to slice his neck open. The second helmeted templar fell before the first. And Robert found himself staring at his blood-stained rescuer.

“Cole!” he gasped.

Well, Robert thought, absently. It seemed Cole wasn’t so imaginary after all.

And yet, neither Barris nor Freddy seemed to notice Cole. Instead, Barris lunged at Robert, but Cole shoved Barris aside. The boy was slight, but Barris hadn’t seen the attack coming. He went sprawling to the floor as Cole grabbed Robert by the shoulder.

“Hurry,” the boy said.

That was all he said. Just ‘hurry,’ in a voice low and intent as ever, but not particularly alarmed.

Robert didn’t need to be told twice. Cole half-dragged, half-led Robert over to the dungeon stairs and helped him hobble up the steps. As they scrambled up, Robert realized that this was going to be the shortest escape attempt ever made. Even as they reached the top of the stairs, even as sunlight filtered into the hallway in a bright promise of sky, Robert heard Barris behind them, shouting for reinforcements.

Then, suddenly, Robert and Cole were at the top of the stairs. There was the courtyard. And there, right before him, stood a group of templars. They were recruits, it looked like, and all of them were staring at the doorway to the dungeons, murmuring nervously.

“Shit,” Robert hissed, coming up short. The templars looked right at the spot where Robert stood. Behind him, Robert could hear Barris, pounding up the steps.

Without missing a beat, Cole tugged Robert to one side. Barris rushed right by Robert. Robert felt a slight breeze as the templar passed.

“What the Void?” Robert blinked. Barris had run right by him. And then, as Robert watched, Barris hurried out into the courtyard. The other templars breathed a collective sigh of relief when they saw Barris.

“Are you alright?” one of them asked Barris. “We heard you’d been taken into the dungeons.”

“I was asked to question a prisoner, but he escaped,” Barris told them. “Have you seen anyone come this way?”

The templars all shook their heads, and Robert’s mouth just dropped open. He turned to look at Cole.

“But…” Robert said, softly.

Cole smiled.

It was a small, knowing sort of smile, and in that moment, Robert understood. Or no, he didn’t understand in the slightest, but he got the gist of it at least. Cole was some sort of mage, gone mad in a templar dungeon, and he’d saved Robert with his knives and his hiding-magic.

Or something like that, Robert supposed. He didn’t care about the hows or whys of it at present. Robert just hoped that the magic would last.

“They won’t see us until I want them to,” Cole assured Robert, quietly.

“Then don’t want them to,” Robert replied.

“Trevelyan is still in there with Stanhope? Maker’s breath! How did I miss him?” Barris turned around and waved on the other templars.

“Hurry now,” he said, “Stanhope is wounded!”

And with that, he led the other templars back into the dungeons, and back down the stairs. Robert drew away as they all passed, close enough to touch. Cole just watched them quietly.

“Stanhope’s an ass,” the last templar in line said to the one before him. “Frankly, he deserves anything that’s coming to him.”

Robert, in spite of the pain in his eye and his rib, smiled at that.

“That’s an officer you’re talking about,” the other templar said back.

“So what?” came the reply as the conversation trailed off. “All the officers are acting odd lately. I’m beginning to think…”

And then they were gone, and Robert was left in the doorway with Cole. He didn’t know quite what to say to the boy except:

“Thank you.”

“You asked for help,” Cole replied, as if that were sufficient reason.

“So I did,” Robert answered. And regardless of the oddity of the circumstances, Robert was willing to follow the boy to freedom.

Or, Robert thought, maybe he wasn’t free at all. Maybe he was still being tortured down there, and his mind had split in two and run up the stairs.

“No,” Cole said. “You’re really here. If you were imagining all this, your ribs wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“Good point,” Robert conceded. “Now we need to get out of this place.”

Cole nodded his head in agreement.

“I’ll help,” he promised.


	31. Champions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen leads the pack and Cole throws his weight around

Cullen’s entire world was one giant headache.

Pain shot through the bridge of his nose, as though his head had been pierced by an arrow. Or rather, his head felt pierced by the scream that rent the air. The narrow canyon held that scream close to Cullen’s ears, and made the sound reverberate through his skull. Without the hum of lyrium to soften it, the cry rattled all the way down to his bones.

As Cullen watched, his enemy fell with a loud ‘thud’. And though he felt his hands shaking, Cullen did his best not to show his fear. Instead, he knelt, and calmly as he could, wiped his bloodied sword on the grass.

“T-that was a demon, ser,” one of the soldiers stammered. The voice was young, and held the hint of an Orlesian accent.

“Indeed,” Cullen replied, dryly. And it was dead. That was one victory at least. But this oncoming migraine was nothing he could fight.

Before Cullen, the demon’s remains began to glow. Then its body turned to ash and hissed off on the breeze. Cullen held up his hand to keep the demon-mist from going up his nose. It wasn’t like one could _inhale_ possession, but he’d smelled enough fade-stench for one day.

“It possessed them wolves,” another of the soldiers whispered.

Cullen did his best not to roll his eyes. It was obvious that the pack had been possessed. Anyone who had lived through the last blight knew that Ferelden wolves only behaved like this when demons were involved. Then again, Cullen realized, these soldiers probably _didn’t_ know that. They were mostly foreigners, and all much younger than he. Morris was the oldest person present, aside from Cullen.

The thought made Cullen feel very old.

And this headache was making him feel nauseous, Cullen realized. He sheathed his sword in his scabbard, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. The pressure from without did little to remove the pain from within.

“Ser?” Morris asked, his voice sounding distant beyond the ache. “Are you alright?”

Cullen let his hand drop.

“Fine,” he lied.

He’d dealt with demons before, of course, but this one had been so unexpected, it had startled him beyond reason. It reminded him how thin the Veil was, how vulnerable they all were. Even the most pastoral of farmlands was a potential demon spawning-ground. As if he needed _more_ reason to feel paranoid about the creatures.

Well, never mind that, Cullen thought. Shaken or no, headache or no, the troops needed their commander to show strength. He set his feelings of fear and weakness aside and lifted his chin.

“Back to camp,” Cullen called out. It was a terse order, but the soldiers fell in line behind him at once.

“Protectin’ the wilds against demons,” one of the soldiers muttered at Cullen’s back. “Wasn’t exactly what I planned on when I signed up, you know.”

“Who else is gonna fight ‘em?” another soldier replied. “This ain’t the Free Marches. No champions out here.”

_Indeed,_ Cullen thought. Though given his experience with city champions, that might not be a bad thing.

Cullen and the soldiers walked out of the wolves’ den and into a narrow gorge. A creek flowed swiftly through the canyon, then out of sight. As Cullen walked along the creek’s banks, the rush of water still seemed to echo the demon’s dying screams.

Cullen shook off that thought. He refused to succumb to fear, nor to think overmuch about how raw and tired he felt. So instead, Cullen instead reviewed all the other work he had to do today. There were still the watchtowers to inspect and the patrols to arrange. Now that the wolves were gone, he would need to speak to Master Dennet. The Inquisition had upheld their end of the bargain by dealing with the bandits and wolves. Now Dennet would provide extra horses as he’d promised. For if the Inquisition was to become a proper army, they were going to need a cavalry. Though Maker only knew where they would keep the creatures at Haven, Cullen thought. Maybe Dennet would be willing to stable them for now.

_And now I’ll have to learn to ride one of the beasts,_ Cullen mused. That seemed the most daunting prospect of all. But even as he thought that, he remembered Kate’s reply: if she had to learn to fight, certainly he could learn to ride.

At the thought of Kate, Cullen grew both wistful and somber - wistful because it seemed like ages ago that he and Kate had spoken about Chantry history in that farm field. And yet, it had happened only yesterday. But that was wartime for you, Cullen supposed. Battles had a way of making a man feel years older in a matter of hours.

As for the somber attitude, Cullen found himself concerned about what would happen when Kate returned with news about the mages. Kate hadn’t returned from Redcliffe yet, and Cullen had waited up for her most of the night. Well, ‘waited up’ was probably too strong a term for it. He’d finished his reports very late, then gone to bed. Leliana had arrived in the morning as expected, but Kate had not. He hoped that when they reached camp…

_CRACK._

The sound was like a tree splitting in half, and at first, Cullen looked up to the forest on the banks above. But then he saw a flash of light and something like a shard of green glass popped into existence before him. It hovered over a small waterfall for one peaceful moment, then it threw out spindly green lines of lightning.

_A rift. Blast_. Cullen looked around desperately, even as the soldiers shouted in panic. On either side of the stream, the hills rose up sharply. There were a few spots to climb the embankment, but it was too steep to provide a quick escape.

Cullen drew his sword at once. He had not seen an open fade rift since the time Kate had rushed to temporarily close the breach. Now, this mass of green began to shimmer and shift, drawing up bubbling magic as if from the river itself. The next thing Cullen knew, a scream poured from the rift, and so, too, did the demons.

_Maker save us,_ Cullen thought, bringing his shield up. Beside Cullen, Morris hefted his huge blade and pointed at one of the creatures.

“One of them witchy-ones, ser,” he said. “I don’t like their screams.”

Cullen didn’t like those screams, either, but his soldiers were counting on him. So he steeled his resolve and did a quick assessment of the battlefield.

There were only eight of them, and Dennet’s farms were just up the rise to the right. A village full of refugees lay in the other direction, and the demons could easily head up the gorge and re-take the wolf pack. In short, Cullen thought, he and his men might be able to make a run for it, but that would allow the fiends to wander free to terrorize the newly-reclaimed farmlands. The demons _might_ confine themselves to the river, but could he count on that?

No, he could not, Cullen thought. There was no question as to what he must do.

“Run to the farms and send word for the Herald!” Cullen shouted to the youngest soldier, an Orlesian fellow who had proven faster than the rest. “The rest of us will keep the demons contained until she can come and close the rift.”

_Maker speed Kate,_ Cullen added in a silent prayer. He hoped she was done with the mages at last, for it seemed Kate was their only chance for a rescue.

The young soldier dashed away toward the farms, and the remaining soldiers looked after the messenger enviously as the demons began to prowl around under the rift. Cullen motioned his men into position: infantry behind him, archers to the higher ground. To their credit, the recruits jumped into place as if they’d done this a thousand times. It humbled Cullen to see it. These people trusted him. More than that, they’d actually _listened_ to his training, which was encouraging beyond measure. They might actually keep this rift contained without injuries. Maybe.

Cullen readied his sword and took a step toward the demons.

* * *

Ser Delrin Barris stalked into the room and threw his sword onto his bed. It was not the way to treat a weapon, but he felt too frustrated to care. The past day had been like a visit to the Void.

After Trevelyan’s attack, Barris had done what he could for Ser Stanhope’s injuries. All the while, Stanhope had insulted Barris in front of the recruits and promised Barris all sorts of punishments.

Barris shuddered to think of what Stanhope would cook up next. Barris was already on reduced lyrium rations. His last draught had been meager - and two days ago, for the Maker’s sake. How on earth had Stanhope expected Barris to find the escaped prisoner when Barris felt so dizzy he could scarcely see straight?

Still, Barris had done as he was told. He had searched the castle high and low with the junior templars. They’d been at it all night, and found no sign of the man except that there were several meat pies missing from the larder. Barris resented that. Trevelyan had left them nothing but bread and water for their supper. Meanwhile, the senior members of the Order didn’t seem to care about dinner at all. They’d all gone off to some meeting in the great hall, and still hadn’t come out. It was worrisome.

More than that, it was hopeless, Barris thought. He yanked off his gloves and tossed them onto his bed beside the sword. He’d searched all morning - on an empty stomach and without lyrium, too. There was no sign of Trevelyan, and the blame for the prisoner’s escape would surely be laid at Barris’ door.

It was odd, though, Barris mused. It was like Trevelyan had knocked Barris down from a distance, then disappeared into thin air. But of course that couldn’t have really been the case, Barris assured himself. The far more likely explanation was that somehow, and in his lyrium-withdrawn state, Barris had slipped and started seeing things.

It was all due to the lack of lyrium, Barris thought. As soon as the officers were done in the great hall, he would petition his superiors for a draught. Of course, Barris thought with a sneer, they would probably give him that nasty new red stuff. It had a strange smell to it, but he supposed that was what the current war had done to the lyrium trade: reduced them all to taking the dwarves’ worst offerings. But he could hold his nose and drink it, he supposed. Barris figured he’d have to. If he didn’t, he’d be suffering from full-body shakes by tomorrow evening.

Maker, Barris thought. He pressed his fingers to his temples in frustration. This - all of this - was madness. Things had been wild for over a year now, but he had thought the arrival of the Lord Seeker in Val Royeaux would be the end to his uncertainty. Instead, in the quiet of Barris’ own mind, he had to question…

He questioned nothing, Barris told himself, sharply. His training jerked him back from the edge as if with a bit of rope. Questioning wasn’t for templars, Barris reminded himself. The faithful remained faithful in the face of all doubt.

And yet, these proverbs rang hollow. For what if Trevelyan was innocent? What if Stanhope did know something about what had happened in Haven? Trevelyan had certainly known things - things about Barris that Barris had never told anyone. So what if Trevelyan was right about Stanhope, too?

It wasn’t for him to say, Barris thought, running his hand over his close-shaved head. His only concern here was…

Maker, he hardly knew anymore. He couldn’t help but wish that he’d gone with Seeker Cassandra and the Herald back in Val Royeaux. But the _Lord Seeker_ himself had ordered Barris. Should he have turned his back on everything he ever knew, because of a doubt that would not leave his mind?

_“Yes. Yes, you should have.”_

Barris froze, his hand on the back of his neck, and looked up at the ceiling. He almost thought he’d heard a voice whispering from the rafters, but it must have been his imagination. For a moment, his eyes lingered on the patch of light streaming in from the high window.

Just then, Barris heard a soft ‘snick,’ like that of a door closing gently on its frame. And as he turned his head, he heard another, far more familiar sound: the ‘creak’ of a bowstring being pulled back.

Barris whirled around, and then he froze. In spite of his headache, in spite of his sudden fear, Barris almost felt - relieved? For there was one question answered. It seemed that the prisoner had not disappeared into thin air after all.

“Trevelyan,” Barris said, quietly.

“Hullo again, Ser Barris” the young man said. The words were exceptionally polite, especially considering that Trevelyan had a bow in his hands, with an arrow pointed right at Barris’s heart. The bowstring was half slack, but Trevelyan could surely fire a shot before Barris could move a muscle.

“Were you hiding in here the whole time?” Barris asked. It seemed best to keep Trevelyan talking, rather than test his skill at archery.

“Here in your room?” Trevelyan asked. “Oh, no. I poked about the castle, rummaging for supplies. Found a poultice for my face, not that you can tell.”

Trevelyan jerked his head, as if to indicate his swollen eye and bruised cheek. Crusted blood still clung to his chin, and his clothes were dirty.

“You look awful,” Barris muttered. This fellow might have killed two templars down there in the dungeon, but Barris couldn’t help but pity him a little.

“Your templar friends brought me to this state,” the young man replied, still keeping the bow trained on Barris.

“Ah,” Barris said. “So you’re here for revenge? Or just to scavenge more weapons?”

And could Barris possibly reach his sword in time to defend himself, he wondered? Or perhaps he should lunge for the opposite wall, where a spare shield lay in the corner, propped up against the stones.

“I don’t see why I couldn’t do both,” the prisoner replied. “Though you needn’t bother with ‘Trevelyan.’ ‘Robert’ will do well enough. As they say, torture breeds familiarity and familiarity breeds… Well, you know.”

The shield first, Barris decided. Against a bow, he’d need a shield. Then he could lunge for the sword.

“Oh, come off it, Barris,” Robert said with a snort. “Cole’s already taken your sword, or didn’t you notice?”

Startled, Barris turned sharply, and found that it was true. His bed was bare.

Barris stared at the blankets for a moment before turning to Robert with a startled: “Where…?”

“Up there,” Robert said, nodding upward. “And your gloves. And the dagger you had hidden in your boot, too.”

Barris looked at the window sill above his head. Sure enough, there was the pommel of his sword, far above his head, and presumably all his other gear, too. It suddenly occurred to Barris that his left boot felt looser than it should.

“How did you…” Barris began.

“Cole,” Robert replied. He managed to shrug without compromising his aim at all. “You can’t see him. He’s a mage or something. And he’s the one who killed your templar friends, not me. Good on him, I say.”

“A mage?” Barris stiffened at once. “You have a mage for an accomplice?”

Well, Barris thought. That did explain it. If Trevelyan had acquired an enchanter for an ally, then that was how he’d knocked Barris down and made his invisible escape.

“How did a mage manage to sneak in here?” Barris wanted to know.

“You know,” Robert said, looking genuinely curious, “I have no idea. I thought he came from further in the dungeons, but…” He broke off, then cocked his head, as if listening to something.

“Oh, really?” Robert asked, not taking his eyes off of Barris. “I see. That does explain it then.”

“What?” Barris demanded.

“He says he’s a spirit,” Robert said. “And that’s why you can’t see him.”

Barris stiffened. A spirit? There _could_ be a demon at work here. Or perhaps Robert had gone completely mad down in the dungeons.

Or, Barris thought a moment later, it was entirely possible that _both_ these things were true: a demon had driven Robert mad, then aided him in killing the other templars and escaping. After all, _something_ had stuck Barris’ swords up there on the ledge, and it sure hadn’t been Robert. Unless…

“Or maybe _you’re_ a mage,” Barris said aloud. _A mad mage,_ he added silently.

“Ha!” Robert laughed. “Do you think I would have survived to adulthood if I was a mage? I don’t have the discipline my cousin Katie does. I would have set myself on fire a long time ago now, or succumbed to a desire demon and ambominated myself away. Abominated,” he mused. “Is that even a word, I wonder? It should be.”

The young man’s cheerful tone took Barris off guard. He didn’t entirely sound like a madman. And then there was the strange consideration about Robert’s cousin. For this ‘Katie’ he spoke of was surely the same Kate Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, that had come to Val Royeaux just a few weeks ago. And yet, Robert didn’t seem to know about all that. Well, if Robert was a traitor, it would be best for Barris to keep this information to himself.

“My cousin has become the what of what?” Robert gaped at Barris, and yet, in spite of his surprise, he didn’t compromise his aim at all. “What on earth does _that_ mean?”

“What?” Barris blinked.

“They’re calling her ‘the Herald of Andraste’?” Robert snorted. “Sounds like something a frilly Chantry sister would make up. I bet Katie loves it, too.” He chuckled, as if this was a great joke.

“How did you do that?” Barris demanded at once. “How did you read my mind?”

“I didn’t,” Robert replied. “Cole did.” He nodded again at the windowsill.

“The spirit is reading my mind?” Barris repeated. There was an unpleasant thought.

“Unsettling, isn’t it?” Robert agreed. “He does it to me all the time and… Yes, of course,” he added, looking up. “I did say it was alright, didn’t I? I’m not angry about it now.” He shrugged and looked back down at Barris. “Eh, you get used to it.”

Barris watched in confused fascination as Robert once again considered the silent windowsill, as if a voice were speaking in the sunlight up there.

“Truuuuue,” Robert said at last. He drew this word out, until it was almost three syllables long.

There was another silence, and then Robert said, “Well, that _is_ why we’re here, isn’t it, Cole? You said the other templars were beyond saving, but Barris isn’t.”

Robert paused again, then said, “Red inside, is it? Alright. Whatever that means.”

Robert dropped his gaze from the window and gave Barris an apologetic smile, as if to say, “Spirits. Am I right?”

It occurred to Barris that even if he couldn’t reach his sword, he _did_ have templar powers at hand. Then again, as lyrium-starved as he was, he was far more likely to give himself a headache than hurt Robert with a holy smite. Still, such a blast might knock Robert down. It would also neutralize any demons in the area and act as a beacon to all the other templars.

“Do you really want the other templars to come running?” Robert asked, frowning at Barris. “I thought you had lost your faith in them.”

“H-how did you…?” Barris stammered, but could get no further. Robert had already explained how he was reading Barris’ mind. Barris just didn’t quite believe it.

“Look,” Robert said, “I know you’re trying to figure out if you can rush me the next time I look up at Cole. But know this: I could easily shoot you dead before you reach me.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Barris asked.

“No,” Robert replied. “It’s supposed to…”

But Barris had enough of this. It was all too much: the lack of lyrium, the headache, the threat of a madman and possibly a demon. He lunged for the spare shield by the opposite wall. But no sooner had his bare fingers brushed the shield, than he fell heavily to the ground.

“Oof!” Barris gasped.

Barris landed on his stomach on the stone floor, his armor clattering. But when he rolled over, Robert remained by the door, his bow once again at the ready.

“I _did_ warn you,” Robert said, sighing.

“How…?”

“Cole,” Robert said, as if this should be obvious. “He knocked you down.”

Or maybe I slipped, Barris thought. Or maybe Robert really was a mage and was toying with Barris. Either of those possibilities seemed more likely.

“Well of course he doesn’t believe us,” Robert said to the empty air above Barris’ head. “We sound like lunatics. Well, _I_ sound like a lunatic, seeing as I’m the only one he can hear.”

_He’s mad,_ Barris thought, closing his eyes against his headache.

_When the world’s gone mad, sanity looks strange._ The thought went through Barris’ mind like a whisper. Barris’ eyes shot open, but he saw no one there.

“We don’t have time for this,” Robert said. And then, “Alright fine.” All of this was addressed to the air.

“Cole wants to save you,” Robert said, looking down at Barris. “Say’s he doesn’t want you ‘dying in your doctrines’”

“What does _that_ mean?” Barris wanted to know.

“Damned if I know,” Robert replied. “But he asked me to come talk to you. Says you need our help.”

“I need _your_ help?” Barris blinked. “The help of a murderer?”

“Come now,” Robert frowned. “You don’t need to be insulting. Cole’s quick with a blade, true, but he’s also really sensitive. It’s alright, Cole,” Robert added to the windowsill. “I still like you.”

_Absolutely mad,_ Barris thought.

“I’m not mad,” Robert sighed. “But you aren’t going to believe me, are you? I mean, what’s one voice of reason against every singing tongue of the Order? We’ll then, I’m off.”

“To Haven?” Barris asked.

Robert shrugged, but he didn’t deny it.

“You plan to join the Inquisition?”

And even as Barris asked that, he felt a pang in the center of his chest. For even now, he realized that he regretted his choice in Val Royeaux. He wished he had found the courage to stand up to the Lord Seeker and go with the Herald and Cassandra, and…

They were traitors, he reminded himself. Hadn’t the Lord Seeker said so?

And yet, Barris mused, hadn’t people once called Andraste a traitor, too?

Barris blinked. That thought hadn’t come to him from outside whispers. That thought was a stowaway, hiding within him all the way from Val Royeaux. Perhaps it had been hiding within him far longer than that.

“Join the Inquisition?” Robert was asking, even as Barris’ gaze went unfocused. “What Inquisition? The only Inquisition I ever heard of was in boring Chantry history lessons where…”

Robert paused there, and again glanced at the windowsill. Barris almost thought he heard something then. Or rather, it was like he felt something. It was like longing and hope was radiating from the sunlight, the way heat flows from a fire.

”‘Voices raised in memory of song,’” Robert said. It sounded as if he was repeating someone else’s words, but Barris heard only Trevelyan’s voice. “‘The mistake’s mistake makes the world right.’”

Then Robert snorted and shrugged. “Eh, I don’t know. Does that mean anything to you, Barris?”

“Not really,” Barris replied.

“Nor me,” Robert said. “Half of what Cole says doesn’t make sense. But then, suddenly, it does. I think that worries me more than anything else.”

_If not mad, then very close to it,_ Barris thought to himself.

“Well then, Barris,” Robert said. “What’s it to be?”

Barris frowned. “What are my options?” he asked. “Come with you as a hostage or die here? Either way, I’m going to get an arrow in my throat.”

“No, no,” Robert replied. “Those are _templar_ options you’re talking about. Good thing I never took vows. I’m still a novice in the ways of brutality. As I said before, I have no quarrel with you. Not even after what happened in the dungeon. I’m just here to extend Cole’s invitation.”

“You’re asking me turn traitor?”

“Asking you to come to your senses, more like.”

Barris glared. Robert’s teasing goaded him far more than he wanted to admit. When Robert said that templar options were brutal, well, Barris ought to consider that an outright lie. That shouldn’t have the ring or truth to it.

Barris kept himself still as stone, even though his heart stirred within him. But he couldn’t tell if he was fighting to get out, or fighting to keep himself contained within.

“Right then,” Robert sighed, obviously disappointed.

He let his bow drop, and with his bow and arrow in one hand, he reached into his grubby jacket. Barris grabbed the shield beside him, and scrambled to his feet, but Robert just drew something out of his pocket and held it out. In the filtered sunlight, it winked a bright, cool blue.

“Is that…?” Barris gaped, his mouth going dry at the sight.

“Lyrium,” Robert said, raising a brow. Or that would have been a brow-raise if Robert’s face wasn’t so swollen. Instead, the young man just grimaced a little.

“I bought it off a smuggler in Amaranthine ages ago,” Robert went on. “And Freddy never found it in all that time. Oh? You hid it from him, Cole? Ah, good thinking. Though you might have saved my coin purse from him as well.”

Robert chuckled and shook his head, and looked down at the vial.

“Ironic, isn’t it? A castle full of templars who crave this stuff, and it was in _my_ pocket. The one person here who didn’t want it. Well, other than Cole. But now…”

Robert trailed off and looked up at Barris.

“Cole says he saved it for you.”

“You intend to buy my loyalty with a bit of lyrium?” Barris scowled.

Though he feigned anger, that was mostly to cover his fear. For Barris was tempted by that lyrium - sorely tempted. He could almost imagine he heard a hum coming from the vial. Just a taste of it would banish this headache. The entire draught would flood his veins with power and ease these nagging doubts.

“This isn’t a trade,” Robert told Barris. “It’s a gift from Cole.”

“What?” Barris blinked. Surely he hadn’t heard that right. Even receiving the regular doses required a recitation of vows.

“Just take the beastly thing,” Robert told him. And with this, Robert tossed the vial at Barris. Barris instantly dropped the shield in order to catch the lyrium vial in both hands. He breathed a sigh of relief the moment his hands closed around the glass. Then shot Robert a dirty look.

“Have a care with this,” Barris said. “Do you have any idea how dear this stuff is?”

Robert wasn’t listening.

“But it’s not our problem, Cole,” the young man was saying to the air above Barris’ head. “You can’t help someone if they don’t want help. Well yes,” he agreed a moment later. “But you can’t force redemption on someone. If it’s not chosen, then it isn’t redemption, is it?”

Barris stared.

“Sorry,” Robert shrugged, turning to Barris with an apologetic smile. “Beastly rude leaving you out of the conversation like that. But Cole says most templars can’t see him. The lyrium ‘sings too loud’ or something. He says when you really want to see him, you will.”

Barris didn’t know what to make of this. Of _any_ of this. But even as he thought that, the lyrium’s hum called to him. His eyes slid down to study the vial in his hands. It was so fragile and precious, Barris thought, like bottled moonlight. Yet for all its cool glow, it felt warm to the touch. It even had a pulse to it.

Barris tried not to swallow at the tremor that ran through him, but couldn’t quite help it. Lyrium had always reminded him of touch, of connection, of passion and safety. Maker help him, Barris thought, it reminded him of a lover’s arms, though such memories had gone cold with over the years. Lyrium brought to mind all those things he’d given up years ago, when he traded his vows for his first taste of this liquid wonder. He would never speak such things aloud though. Even thinking them had to be a sin.

Barris looked up from his reverie to find Robert had nearly escaped again. The young man had opened up the door was peeking out into the hall. As Barris watched, Robert closed the door and leaned against it.

“So wait another minute then?” Robert asked. By now, Barris knew well enough to understand that Robert was not addressing _him_. This was confirmed a moment later when Robert glanced over at Barris - meeting Barris’ eyes with his one unswollen eye.

“Want to come with us?” Robert asked. “This is your last chance.”

“I…Nuh…” Barris couldn’t even manage a full ‘no.’ All he could manage past his lips was the first sound of the word. His tongue longed for the lyrium only.

And how long would this draught last, he wondered? Sooner or later, he’d be forced to take the red lyrium like the other officers. And when he did, what then? As much as he wanted to ignore it, there was clearly something wrong with that stuff.

No, Barris thought. He had his orders. He had the recruits to look after.

Well, actually, he amended, he _didn’t_ have any recruits to look after. He’d been relieved of his rank by Stanhope. As it was, Barris scarcely had any standing in the templars at all.

And that was precisely why he should stay here and regain what he had lost, Barris told himself. As they had said to him in Val Royeaux, he was called to a higher purpose. He should not question the Order.

“Suit yourself,” Robert said. “As for me, I’m making my escape. Or maybe I’m about to follow a demon off into the wilds and get abominated there. But,” he added, brightly, “Whatever I do, I’ll be doing it as far away from Freddy Stanhope as I can get.”

With that, Robert yanked the door open. “Coming with, Barris?” he asked.

“I…” Barris murmured. “I can’t…”

“Take care of yourself, Barris,” Robert said over his shoulder, “And next time you see Freddy, kick him in the stones for me, will you? There’s a good chap.”

With that, Robert slipped out the door.

Barris just stood there, alone in the room. He had stayed true to the order, he thought, clutching the vial in his bare fist. And yet, he never felt a traitor until now.

Barris glanced over at his bed to find that his sword, dagger, and both of his gloves were laid neatly side by side on the blankets.

_Seek Haven._

Barris jumped as he heard - actually _heard_ \- a voice whisper in his ear. He spun around, and for the briefest moment, he thought he saw a glint of blue - like the iris of a wide, staring eye. But then it was gone.

Barris didn’t know if that blue was an illusion or not. He didn’t know if the voice had come from without or within. And he wasn’t sure if he felt tempted to leave for Haven because he wished to do the right thing - or merely because he wanted more of the blue lyrium. But whatever the reason, Barris shoved the lyrium into his pocket. With shaking hands, he drew on his gloves, buckled his sword to his hip and returned his dagger to his boot. He grabbed the shield from the floor and strode from the room. As he hurried down the hall in the direction of the stables, Barris prayed to Andraste that this was not a horrible mistake.

“Please,” he murmured to himself, “For once, let me take the right path.”

_You have,_ came the whispered reply. _You are._


	32. War Bales and Windmills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian makes an entrance and Robert meets his map

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all my dear readers: Happy Holidays! As I’m closing in on 11 months working at this fiction, I am so grateful for each and every one of you. You guys are the best.
> 
> My Christmas present to you (and to myself!) is to publish 3 chapters today. In a way, I kept to my chapter-a-week schedule for the past 3 weeks after all. It was just that these chapters were so intertwined that they required being written, edited, and re-edited together. But here they are at last.
> 
> I want to give a shout-out to Ariella1941 for inspiration on Chapter 32. We were chatting via tumblr and I mentioned that I have a particular dislike of time travel as a narrative device. (My natural aversion was honed by a former philosophy professor of mine who was known to go off on the inherent contractions of time travel as put forth in most formulations. She once sidetracked from a modal logic lecture to discuss the utter absurdity of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure and the logic-loops it presented. But I digress. Point is: time travel as a narrative device. Sage is not a fan.) Anyhow, Ari and I had a lovely discussion about how time travel in Dragon Age: Inquisition is not _completely_ incoherent, given current scientific theory. I had been dreading writing In Hushed Whispers, and even considered skipping the sequence entirely. But thanks to Ari, I felt inspired to bite the time-travel bullet, as it were. From there, I found the thread I wanted to draw out from that questline and worked forward from there (or backward, as the case may be).
> 
> As always, thank you to my husband, Bladewarden, for his support, for taking the kids out sledding so I could get some uninterrupted writing time, and for beta reading my work. This wouldn’t happen without him. He is my first reader, and I live for the moments when my writing makes him laugh - or get choked up.
> 
> And once again, thank _you_ , my readers and my fellow fanfiction writers, for joining me in this Dragon Age adventure. Thank you for the time you’ve taken to read this fiction, for your kindness, comments, and encouragement. I wish you all happy, happy holidays and a blessed new year!
> 
> Love,  
> sage

Dorian Pavus folded his arms over his chest and surveyed the now-quiet canyon. Nothing like a timely rescue to make a lasting impression, he thought with a smirk. Right now, several of the soldiers were staring at him in awe. Dorian couldn’t entirely blame them. He’d always had a flair for dramatic entrances.

Minutes ago, Dorian and the Herald of Andraste had been stumbling along some Maker-forsaken ‘short cut’ through the woods. Then, just when Dorian was sure they were lost, they came upon a waterfall - and a rift. There had been scouts and soldiers and even mercenaries there, all flagging under the assault of the demons. Dorian had introduced himself to the Inquisition by shooting fire from his fingertips, and scorching up the biggest demon in a flash of flame. The Herald and her entourage had joined the fray, and within minutes, the fight was over.

Not a bad bit of work for an afternoon, really. Now if only the Herald could get that rift to stay shut.

Dorian turned to find the woman was still struggling with what appeared to be a green bolt of lightning stuck to a ruptured balloon. He strolled over to her, as the other soldiers and scouts and even mercenaries rushed about, tending to the wounded.

“Having trouble with that?” Dorian called to the Herald.

“Not…no,” she said, her words punctuated by a wince. “It’s shut. Just not…closing. But I’ve…got it.”

Dorian chuckled at her singular focus. Good girl, that Herald of Andraste. Absurd title they’d bestowed upon her, but for a southern Circle mage, Dorian rather liked her.

She certainly wasn’t what he had expected. Dorian had heard tales of a mighty woman with flaming hair, who spewed heretical poison from her lips. He’d heard her power as an enchantress was matched only by the aura of mystery about her. The rumors weren’t even close to true, Dorian thought with a chuckle. The Herald of Andraste looked more like a Ferelden dairy maid than a mage.

Why, just this afternoon, the Herald and her friends had helped an elven healer relocate from Redcliffe village to the Crossroads. There they had been: the Herald and her bodyguard and all her entourage, carrying trunks and bags and carpets like common furniture removers! The audacity of it amazed Dorian. If any mage in the Imperium had a mark like the Herald’s, they’d be plotting world domination even now. The Herald, on the other hand, had stood in a crofter’s hut, asking an elven peasant where to put the jars of elfroot. Dorian had watched her from the doorway, chuckling. The Herald of Andraste, _serving_ the people. What would these southerners think of next?

Of course, Dorian could now admit that he’d spent much of his afternoon observing another member of the Inquisition altogether. Meeting the Herald had been his primary object in coming to Redcliffe. But the moment he set eyes on that bodyguard of hers, well, it was rather hard to look away.

That might be because the fellow took up a great deal of space, Dorian mused. But he filled that space well, with all that imposing muscle. Dorian would have said the fellow was attractive, if he wasn’t so surly. The giant had taken one look at Dorian and said:

“Watch out. The pretty ones are the worst.”

That was flattering in a way, Dorian supposed. Mildly insulting, too, but what could one expect from a qunari?

As Dorian scanned the battlefield, he spotted the giant standing by the stream, his arms folded, his massive body splattered with blood. A human with short, brown hair sat at his feet in the grass. As Dorian watched, the qunari said something and waved a massive hand. The human frowned and responded with what looked like a rude gesture. The giant threw his head back and laughed. His chest shook and his throat worked, his voice rumbling the very earth beneath Dorian’s feet.

 _Avanna_ , Dorian thought, glancing away. Was it warm down here by this stream? He must have overheated himself with those fire spells.

“Oi! Vint!” a voice startled Dorian from his reverie. “We got injured soldiers, we do. Will yeh be helpin’ with the healin’ or be just standin’ there?”

Dorian raised a brow at the Dalish elf. Her name was…ah, what was it now? Coll, wasn’t it?

“Help with the healing?” he repeated.

What a strange notion. In Tevinter, there were always designated healers within a unit of soldiers. After a skirmish, the healers tended the wounded while the battle mages kept watch for any further threats. But Dorian supposed he wasn’t _in_ Tevinter anymore, was he?

“You’ve heard of healin’, surely,” Coll said. “Tis’ like blood magic, only in reverse.”

Dorian grinned at her jab. In the space of one hour, Dorian had determined that Coll was the sort who insulted her friends and ignored her rivals. Her enemies, she dismembered. Thus, Dorian felt quite flattered by her sneering remark.

“Yes, I know how to heal,” Dorian told her.

He just wasn’t terribly talented at it, though he wasn’t about to admit it. He could cast barriers like anything, but the repairing of existing wounds was a tricky business. It took Dorian a great deal of concentration, and he had to do it in close proximity to the patient. The healing of an entire party in the heat of battle? That was left best for the experts - or those well-favored by the Fade spirits.

But if healing was on the docket for today, Dorian supposed he’d better get to it. Dorian just wasn’t sure which of these wounded soldiers would accept aid from a Tevinter mage. Always an awkward situation when the patient would rather bleed out than take their medicine.

“See to them shems there,” Coll said. She pointed over Dorian’s shoulder. He turned to see two soldiers kneeling beside a third.

Then Dorian heard Coll gasp. Dorian turned back around to find the elf sprinting across the field.

“Ach! Krem!” she cried. “I thought yeh said yeh were fine!”

“I _am_ fine, Dalish,” the young man replied. It seemed that Krem was the young soldier sitting by the qunari. As Dorian watched the lad tried to stand, but fell backward onto his rear.

“Sit yer tanned arse down, boyo!” Coll told him, pointing at the ground. “Let me see to yeh proper.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” the soldier said again, but he gave in. Dorian didn’t blame the lad in the slightest. That Coll was a firestorm. At Krem’s side, the qunari chuckled when Coll came over and started fussing.

Then the qunari looked up, saw Dorian staring, and his one good eye narrowed.

Dorian turned away at once. He quickly headed toward the ‘shems’ that Coll had pointed out. In the center of the group was a young woman with short, brownish hair. Beside that woman knelt a female archer, whose face was half-concealed by a hood. With them knelt a _devastatingly_ handsome man. He had golden, curling hair and deep brown eyes and…

And a dull-colored fur collar about his…what was that? A robe? A mantle? Really, Dorian thought with a snort. The mages with their feathers, the soldiers with their furs. One would think all southerners took their fashion cues from a barnyard.

In addition to this unfortunate outfit, the man’s eyebrow was split in half, as if by a claw-scratch. That would leave a nasty scar if not tended to quickly, and in the interest of artistry as well as medical necessity, Dorian planned to see to it. There were so few examples of near-perfect male beauty in the world as it was. It would be a pity to waste one.

“Hullo,” Dorian said cheerfully, dropping to his heels beside the bleeding man and his female companions. “My name’s Dorian, and I’ll be your healer this afternoon. Who’s first?”

Dorian held up his glowing hands and gave the man a winning smile. The handsome fellow frowned in return, his bleeding brow furrowing.

Such a typical response from southerners, Dorian thought with a sigh.

“I won’t touch you,” Dorian assured the man. “Just a bit of heat and light and…”

“Heal Ruvena first, would you?” the man said, jerking his head at the brunette. “She took an ice shard through the thigh.”

Dorian looked down to see that this was true. The young woman had an icicle the size of a small sword sticking out of her flesh. The man had torn off a length of his red cloth mantle and was holding it to her leg as a makeshift bandage.

Dorian considered the injury. It wasn’t _entirely_ beyond his ability, but it wouldn’t be easy to heal. The ice had staunched the flow of blood, but the moment Dorian melted it, the girl would risk bleeding out. He’d have to do this quickly.

Quick healings were rarely gentle. This was going to sting. Ah well. The woman was a soldier, right? They were trained for stamina.

Dorian waved the man aside, then reached for power from the Fade. He drew enough energy to channel two spells - one to warm and one to heal.

And then, Dorian quite forgot the battlefield entirely in his concentration. As Dorian let his hand hover over the woman’s leg, he could feel the subtle ease of melting water, the opposing tug of sinews knit and torn veins rejoined. The woman hissed and winced as he did this. But a minute later, Dorian was done. He opened his eyes, let his hands drop, and nodded to the woman in satisfaction.

“It’ll hold,” Dorian said. “Though you’ll need to be careful with it. You can walk, but no running or leaping about. It could split open from the inside, cause internal bleeding. Nasty way to go. “

“I…” the young woman stared for a moment, then suddenly beamed.

“ _Thank_ you,” she breathed. “I thought that was the end of me for sure.”

 _Oh dear,_ Dorian thought. He knew that look. The girl regarded him as though he’d sprouted wings, the better to fly to the Maker’s side.

“You’re one of the rebel mages, aren’t you?” the young brunette asked, still starry-eyed.

“Too well dressed,” the hooded woman said, automatically. She narrowed her eyes at Dorian, as if trying to scry all his secrets with a single look.

“I am not a rebel,” Dorian told them all. “I’m a death-mage from the Tevinter Imperium. Dorian Pavus. Pleased to meet you.”

Dorian held out his hand in greeting. And as he expected, that wiped the dazed smile off of the brunette’s face. It completely shocked the blond man as well. As for the hooded archer, she didn’t bat an eyelash. If anything, she looked…smug?

“Tevinter?” The man scowled. But, oddly enough, he scowled at the archer, not at Dorian.

“I…I should probably get back to camp,” Ruvena said, looking quite shaken. She rose quickly for despite her injury, and began to hobble away.

There you are, Dorian thought. Soldierly stamina. Also, southern prejudice. Both were as reliable as the sunrise.

Meanwhile, the other two patients seemed to have forgotten that Dorian was even there.

“You _knew_ ,” the soldier was saying to the hooded archer. “Somehow you knew, Leliana.”

“You should let him fix your eyebrow, Cullen,” Leliana replied, Orlesian accent all but purring in satisfaction.

“You knew,” the man named Cullen said again.

“Of course I knew,” she shrugged.

“What is a Tevinter mage doing here?” Cullen demanded.

Cullen addressed this to the hooded Leliana, so naturally, Dorian interrupted to speak for himself.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” he said, buffing his nails on his robes. “Betraying my country. Stopping the cult that’s come to destroy your Herald. Also, demonstrating style whilst doing all of the above.”

Cullen turned his head. He stared at Dorian. He blinked once. Then he closed his eyes and pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“Maker’s breath,” he muttered. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Not at all,” Dorian replied gamely. “I have an excellent sense of style. Now let me see to your brow, ser. You don’t want a brow-scar to go with the one on your lip.”

Then again, Dorian mused, that lip-scar looked so nice on him, perhaps the man should have another to match.

“Hold off,” Cullen said, waving Dorian away. “A _cult_ is threatening Kate now?” He looked up sharply, and searched the battlefield until he spotted the Herald. As soon as his eyes landed on her, a very strange expression crossed his face.

‘Kate’ was it, Dorian mused? He supposed the Herald had introduced herself as such. Still, it seemed a very informal way to address Andraste’s chosen.

“A cult is threatening Kate?” Cullen said again, turning back to Leliana in accusation, “And you didn’t think to warn her? To warn _me_?”

“I heard nothing about a cult,” Leliana said. She seemed a bit put out by that. “I heard only that Tevinter agents were in Redcliffe. My scouts sent ravens the moment the village gates were open. I came at once.”

“You could have sent a raven somewhere along the way,” Cullen persisted.

“I had not yet confirmed the rumors,” Leliana replied.

“Consider me your confirmation,” Dorian grinned at them both. “Ser, your brow, if you please.”

When Dorian reached for him, the stubborn man again waved Dorian off.

“Heal Leliana first,” he said. “A demon tore right through her armor.”

“Good Maker,” Dorian blinked. And so it had. Leliana had been hiding the gash with the long end of her hood-cloth.

“I’ve had worse,” Leliana told them.

Dorian believed her. Still…

“You could get poisoned from that,” he told her.

“Exactly,” Cullen agreed. “Let him heal you already.”

“You’re one to talk,” Leliana said. “Look at your face.”

“This is a scratch,” Cullen said.

“So’s this,” Leliana replied.

“Oh, for the Maker’s sake, will you two sit still and take your medicine?” Dorian said.

And though both the archer and the soldier grumbled, they finally gave in. They both took their turns letting Dorian heal them. Cullen winced and frowned throughout the ordeal, then pressed his fingers to his temples as soon as Dorian had done.

Dorian offered to heal the man’s headache, but got a glare as a reply. So he turned his attention to the archer, Leliana. She did not move throughout the healing. She was as impassive as a statue of Andraste, and just as coolly beautiful.

Dorian had just finished healing them when a great _BOOM_ sounded through the air. He and his patients whipped their heads around to see the rift burst away into nothing. And at the same time, half-muffled by the sound of the explosion, the Herald gave a cry of pain and yanked her hands to her chest.

“Kate!” The templar scrambled to his feet and dashed to her. Dorian and Leliana chased after him. Dorian realized that most of the battlefield had emptied by now. The few stragglers climbing up the hill stopped and looked back down at the gorge in alarm.

“I’m fine!” Kate shouted up at all of them. Her smile was both bright and brittle. “Rift shut. Demons gone. See you back at camp!”

Her smile faded as Cullen and Dorian and Leliana reached her side. She clutched her hands together, and said, far more weakly this time:

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” Cullen said in reply. He reached for her hands, but she just drew them closer to her chest.

“Maker, are you all so stubborn about healing?” Dorian wanted to know.

For he could see blood dripping through the Herald’s fingers. Meanwhile, the mark was spitting and hissing in her hand like a feral cat.

“It’s not that,” Kate replied. “The mark went all…strange. I don’t want it to hurt you if you touch it.”

This she said to Cullen, and Dorian again noticed that strange, fleeting expression cross his face.

“How has the mark gone strange, madam Herald?” a new voice asked.

It was the bald elf, the one whose name Dorian hadn’t bothered to learn. The elf gazed at the mark with mild curiosity. Dorian began to wonder if that bland expression was the only one the elf possessed. It matched his single set of bland clothes, Dorian supposed.

“I’m not quite sure, Solas,” Kate told the elf. “The mark didn’t catch right this time. It’s like the key has bent.”

The elf reached out and Kate placed her marked hand in his palm. Dorian let out a low whistle.

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaimed.

“It hurts,” the Herald admitted. She said this and wrinkled her nose, as if disappointed to find that she felt pain.

“This is no simple cut,” was the elf’s contribution.

 _That_ was an understatement, Dorian thought. The center of Kate’s palm was a mess of charred flesh. It looked as though her skin had been sliced to the bone with lightning.

“You held onto the rift through all that?” Dorian asked, feeling rather amazed at her fortitude. She had struck him as a rather willowy thing, and not very hardy.

“It never occurred to you to let go for a moment?” Dorian asked. “Get a better grip on it?”

“And let more demons onto the field? Not a chance.” Kate snorted, though whether this was with derision or discomfort, Dorian could not say.

“How many did we lose, Cullen?” Kate went on, before anyone could ask her more about her hand.

“Two,” he replied automatically.

“Not bad,” Dorian said. “Non-mages against demons? Usually that’s a massacre.”

“We lost _two_ ,” Cullen told him. He glared as he said it.

And evidently Dorian had misunderstood the importance of these foot soldiers. He wiped the smile off of his face.

“Condolences,” he said, instead. Cullen nodded, accepting the apology.

“Take them to your side, oh Maker,” Leliana said. It took Dorian a moment to realize she’d lapsed into prayer. “Let not your servants be cursed to wander the twisting paths of the Fade alone.”

Kate murmured, “So let it be,” and Cullen nodded in grave assent. The elf, however, ignored this religious moment entirely.

“It seems the mark is shifted now,” he said. “It’s like a bone that’s out of joint. It strains against the Veil.”

“It worked fine in the Chantry,” Dorian told the fellow.

“It didn’t, actually,” Kate said. “It…tugged.”

“It tugged? Tugged how?” Solas wanted to know.

“It pulled at the mark,” Kate said. “And then my hand started to tingle. And look: the mark is hovering over my hand again, just like it did that first day.”

“How fascinating,” Dorian murmured.

And it was, really. This magic was unlike anything he had ever seen. If he was understanding this right, that glowing mark was part physical, part spirit, and entirely unique. Truthfully, that elf there was a remarkably talented mage to be healing _around_ the mark as he was just now.

The Herald hissed in a breath as the elf turned his attention to the worst cut. But all she said was, “That stings.”

“Apologies,” the elf said mildly. “There now. The skin is healed, but the mark may still tear. I would suggest caution.”

“As if any of us were being reckless to start,” Cullen muttered. He pinched the bridge of his nose again. “So now we can’t use the mark…”

“We most certainly can,” Kate told him. “I’ll just need a healer ready.”

“True,” Dorian agreed. “All the more reason to secure the aid of the mage rebellion.”

Cullen looked up at that. “Haven’t you done that already? You were in town for two days.”

“Yes, about that,” Kate made a face and looked at the ground. She obviously didn’t want to be the one to pass on the bad news, so Dorian took it upon himself to do it for her. He was always ready to be helpful like that.

“The rebel mages pledged themselves as slaves to the Tevinter Imperium,” Dorian said. “We’ll have to break their contract in order to free them.”

Cullen stared at Dorian for a moment, then at Kate, then over at Leliana for a spell. Then his entire face contorted and he fairly exploded with:

“ _What_?”

Kate pinched her forehead, as if Cullen’s headache was catching.

“I know,” she sighed. “Believe me. I know.”

“ _Tevinter_?” Cullen’s expression of astonishment was swiftly transforming to one of fury.

“It’s a long story,” Kate began.

“Actually, it’s a short story,” Dorian corrected. “You see, when Alexius cast his time spell…”

Dorian trailed off, a thought suddenly occurring to him.

“His what spell?” Cullen asked, frowning.

“Ah-ha!” Dorian cried. “That’s it!” He stabbed his finger into the air in triumph.

“What’s it?” Leliana asked him.

“The reason Kate’s mark got all pulled out of joint,” Dorian said. “Oh, you don’t mind if I call you ‘Kate,’ do you? Simple and classic. Suits you so well. Anyways, it’s that _rift_. The one in the Chantry. That’s what did it.”

“Did what?” Kate asked, confused.

“Shifted the mark,” Dorian told her. “ _Back in time_.”

There was a long pause in which Cullen and Leliana just stared at him. Why did they look so surprised, Dorian wondered? Hadn’t they heard about the time-traveling cultists?

Ah, no. His mistake. They hadn’t yet.

Kate had, however. She exclaimed, “Oh, of course!” and at her side, the elf nodded with understanding.

“That is a possibility, Herald,” Solas agreed. “That time-scarred rift has warped the mark itself, causing it to revert. Thus now, the mark is newly formed. It’s falling into place.”

“So the mark got turned back to the way it was?” Kate looked down at her hand in wonder. “It does _feel_ like the first day. Is that even possible?”

“I don’t see why not,” Dorian said. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

“It doesn’t make much sense to me,” Cullen said.

“We’d better get the mages on our side, and quickly, too,” Dorian told Kate, speaking right over Cullen. “The sooner we deal with Alexius and his time-magic cult, the better.”

“Time magic?” Cullen repeated. “First the rebels have joined Tevinter and now there’s time magic?”

“Time-altering magic, I should say,” Dorian told him. “Sending people forward and back in time, causing lasting damage to the fabric of the universe. That sort of thing.”

“I…” Cullen just closed his eyes. “I don’t think I quite believe that.”

“Give it a moment,” Dorian advised him. “The concept will grow on you. Like a fungus.”

“I found it hard to believe as well,” Kate told Cullen. “I always thought time travel only existed in stories. I never thought it was a real thing.”

“Oh, it’s real,” Dorian replied. “Or, it’s real _now_. Before this point, it was just theory. We couldn’t get the spell to work.”

“ _We_?” Cullen asked. “ _You_ caused all this?”

“Not all of this, no,” Dorian said. “But the bit I’m responsible for, I’m here to remedy. Oh, don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t like Alexius and I were trying and send ourselves back in time and stop the rebellion in the south or re-establish the days of the Seven Magisters or anything like that. Re-live the Tevinter glory days? How dreary!”

“Then what did you intend, Altus?” Solas asked. His voice had taken on a surly edge.

“We were just thinking of what one could do if one used the Fade as a sort of portal through time and space. The trouble was, the spell we worked out required catapulting oneself through the Fade _physically_. But without resorting to a great deal of blood sacrifice, we weren’t about to harness that kind of power. But then,” he grinned at Kate, “quite suddenly, the power was there for the taking.”

“The breach,” she said.

“Precisely,” Dorian nodded. “Blew up your Divine and gave Alexius the power to muck about with time, too.”

“So Alexius is to blame for Justinia’s death?” Leliana demanded. Her eyes had gone hard as flint.

“Oh, no,” Dorian shook his head. “Alexius doesn’t have power enough to open the Veil. He just managed to piggy-back our spell off of the breach’s power. Or, well, that’s as near as I can figure. It’s how I would have gotten our spell to work, if I had that focusing amulet. Wonder if Alexius has still got that thing? Suppose he must have…”

“So this Magister Alexius can enter the Fade?” Cullen asked. He didn’t look very happy about that thought.

“Not ‘enter,’” Dorian corrected. “Alexius used the residual energy from the breach to sling-shot himself _through_ the Fade, traveling across space, and also back in time. He landed just after the blast occurred. Used _my_ spell, too. That’ll teach me to share findings before I’ve published…”

“That’s preposterous,” Cullen said. “You can’t change the past.”

“Not the long past, no,” Dorian agreed, “Alexius can’t go back any further in time than the formation of the portal - er, breach. One can’t step into a tunnel at a point before it begins, after all.”

“I’m confused,” Cullen said, and it looked like the forehead pinching was about to begin again. Solas also looked troubled. Leliana, however, looked _angry_.

“So Alexius came to Redcliffe _weeks_ ago?” she asked, her eyes flashing fire. “My scouts never reported it.”

“Nor my soldiers,” Cullen agreed, looking equally put out.

“But they couldn’t have!” Kate cried. Her face brightened. Dorian recognized it as the unmistakable smile of a scholar who has just made a breakthrough.

“Don’t you see?” she said. “Your scouts never reported Alexius’ arrival, because they never saw it. Technically, he isn’t here yet. He’s still in Tevinter.”

Cullen and Leliana stared at her, but Dorian smiled with pride.

“Exactly,” he said. Nice to see that she followed the path of time-logic at last.

“Alexius traveled through time _and_ space to get here,” Kate went on. “He landed here in Ferelden, arriving right after the breach was formed. Probably landed in the woods outside of Redcliffe, come to think of it.”

“Most likely,” Dorian agreed. “The Veil has a funny feeling there.”

“It does,” Kate agreed. “So the Inquisition scouts never saw him because he arrived before the Inquisition was even formed. By the time we sent scouts to the Hinterlands, he’d already snuck into Redcliffe, closed the gates on us, frightened Fiona with stories of the war…”

“Very likely,” Dorian nodded.

“I wonder,” Kate said, her eyes going wide. “Fiona said she had visions of the future. Could Alexius have shown her the actual future?”

“Possibly,” Dorian said. “Redcliffe is close to the breach. He might not be able to send people forward easily, but maybe to draw a window onto the future? Yes, he might be able to do that.”

“This is madness,” Cullen said, shaking his head.

“But it’s consistent madness,” Leliana observed.

“And then Fiona,” Kate went on, still thinking. “She…went to Val Royeaux? Or some _version_ of her went to Val Royeaux? And another version stayed here? Or.. Oh, Maker, this is the part where I get confused again.”

“I never stopped being confused,” Cullen muttered.

“If we deal with Alexius here, does he not get the chance to come here again?” Kate mused. “Or is there another version of him that’s still coming later?”

“He sent himself back,” Dorian reasoned. “So the one-and-only Alexius is sitting in Redcliffe castle. If we deal with him, then we deal with the entire problem.”

“But the second Fiona, the one who went to Val Royeaux - what happened to her? Was she destroyed or something? Or did she merge back in with the one in Redcliffe…?” Kate trailed off and shook her head. “No. See, this is where I get lost again. Lydia used to say that time-travel was a logical impossibility due to all the inherent contradictions. I’m inclined to agree with her.”

“As am I,” Cullen grumbled. “The far more likely explanation is that Alexius got past our scouts somehow and that someone mistook some other elf for Fiona in Val Royeaux.”

“You doubt my people?” Leliana asked him, frowning.

“I _spoke_ to Fiona, Cullen,” Kate told him. “Both in Val Royeaux and here. And they were like two different people. When it comes down to it, this time travel theory almost makes sense. Almost.”

“Time travel makes sense?” Cullen asked her. “No it doesn’t. This whole thing is… Well, it’s…” But Cullen couldn’t seem to come up with an appropriate explanation for what this whole thing was. So instead, he pressed his fingers to his temples.

“Maker, not today,” he muttered.

“Is there a better day for magic to obliterate your preconceptions about the immutability of time and space?” Dorian asked, his lips curling in a sardonic smile. “Tuesday, perhaps?”

Cullen shot Dorian a glance as if to say, “Don’t start with me.” It was a look Dorian was well familiar with, having received it many times throughout his life. He just laughed.

“It _does_ take some practice, wrapping one’s mind around the concepts of travel through both time _and_ space,” Dorian agreed. “Time appears to march at such a steady pace. Takes a bit of work to follow in its paces when it crawls or runs - or even jumps! My own mind has become delightfully flexible in recent years, thanks to my studies.”

Dorian was dimly aware that someone was walking up behind him, but when the rumbling voice spoke, Dorian jumped. He hadn’t realized the qunari had returned to eavesdrop on them all. He also found that the qunari now stood far too close to Dorian. It made a body feel very…warm.

“Enough about your flexibility, Vint,” the qunari said. And it might have been Dorian’s imagination, but the giant’s nostrils flared a bit as he spoke. “We need to get to work if we’re going to stop this Alexius asshole.”

“That _was_ what we were discussing,” Dorian said. “But you’re welcome to join us, I suppose.”

“While you were all here chattering,” the giant went on, as if Dorian had not spoken. “I got our people settled back to camp. The bodies, too.”

“Oh,” Cullen looked quite chagrined by this news. “I didn’t mean to leave that to you, Iron Bull. I didn’t even notice…” He winced again, pressed a finger to his temple and said, “Thank you.”

 _Iron Bull_ , Dorian thought, snorting to himself. What a fitting name for the horned brute. It was strong, solid, and so _blatant_. Just like that roughly-hewn face and all those…muscles.

Dorian shook his head hard, only to find the Bull was speaking again.

“You were busy with bigger problems, commander” the Bull was saying to Cullen. “I get it. And hey - nice work holding up against that rift. You trained your guys well.”

“Thank you, Bull,” Cullen said. “Nice work on the rescue.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” the qunari replied with a grin. Dorian found himself quite annoyed at being left out of this praise-party. He’d helped, too. And so had the Herald, come to that.

But Dorian kept these petulant thoughts to himself. Instead, he folded his arms over his chest. This seemed to draw the Iron Bull’s notice at last. The giant stared right down the front of Dorian’s armor.

“So, Vint,” the giant said, as he ogled Dorian’s pectoral muscles. “Any insight on how to stop your boss?”

“He’s not my…” Dorian began irritably. “Alexius is a _former_ teacher. And the answer to your question is quite obvious. Alexius has the rebel mages in thrall, and he’s blatantly misusing a spell that could destroy the fabric of time itself and worst of all, he’s threatened dear little Kate here.”

She gave him a wry smile, and Dorian grinned.

“So given all of Alexius’ crimes together, _clearly_ …” Dorian paused here for dramatic effect.

“He’s got to go,” the Bull concluded.

Dorian scowled to find the giant had beaten him to the punchline.

“Go?” Cullen asked. “As in evict him or kill him? Either will prove difficult, if not impossible.”

And of course, Cullen addressed that question at the qunari and not at Dorian. How very annoying.

“We have to try,” Kate said. “Alexius landed an entire Tevinter cult on our doorstep. That’s a declaration of war, surely.”

“Against Ferelden, maybe, not us,” Cullen countered.

“Aren’t _you_ Ferelden?” Kate wanted to know.

“Yes, and I’m not fighting Ferelden’s wars without a Ferelden army at my back.”

“Alexius enslaved the entire rebellion, Cullen.”

“Yeah, and they asked for it,” the Blatant Bull put in. When Kate scowled at him, the giant just shrugged. “What? They did.”

“Yes, but they were desperate,” Kate said. “And they were tricked. Or as good as tricked. Either way, we need to stop Alexius.”

“Hear, hear,” Dorian agreed.

“Alexius wants to kill you,” Bull told her.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Kate said.

“Alright then, he wants to keep you alive,” Bull said. “And with Vints, that’s usually worse than getting killed straight off.”

“We need the templars,” Cullen cut in. “Now more than ever.”

“What are the templars going to do?” Kate asked him. “Take a week or more getting here? And then what? They’ll likely slaughter the rebels along with the magisters.”

“Or take everyone back to your Circles,” Dorian agreed.

“They can help us,” Cullen said. “They can keep you safe…”

“Keep _me_ safe?” Kate said, incredulous. “Even if they were willing to, what will happen to the rebel mages?”

“If we go after the templars now, we’ll have a bloodbath on our hands,” Leliana agreed.

“Exactly,” Kate replied. “We need to deal with the mages - the Inquisition and no one else. The Lord Seeker isn’t going to help us end this peacefully.”

“I was rather thinking of leaving him out of it,” Cullen replied. “We need his templars, not his by-your-leave.”

“What?” Leliana said. “Steal the templars out from under the Lord Seeker? And how do you propose to do that when we have nothing to bargain with?”

“And how long would it take to bargain?” Kate added. “In the meantime, these cultists will take over the Hinterlands and all our work here will be lost. All these refugees…”

“So you want the Inquisition to take on Tevinter cultists all by ourselves?” Cullen turned on her with a frown. “I lost two good recruits to a _rift_ just now. And you’re asking me to risk these people against the entire mage rebellion? In a fight we can well avoid?”

Kate opened her mouth, but Cullen spoke over her.

“If this Tevinter cult is in Redcliffe, then we are already outplayed,” Cullen told her. “Perhaps you’re not familiar with that arling, but if Alexius retreats to the castle…”

“He has,” Bull put in flatly.

“Well then,” Cullen huffed. “That settles it. That castle has never been breached in the entire history of Ferelden.”

Dorian stifled a laugh. The commander said that so absolutely, as if Ferelden’s history signified anything. This country was a babe in arms compared with the venerable old age of Tevinter.

“The castle has never been breached, no,” Leliana agreed. “But,” she added with a smile. “It has been infiltrated.”

“Infiltrated?” Cullen asked. “When? There’s no record of that.”

Leliana grinned. “Well, Amell and I were too busy to keep records in those days.”

To Dorian’s surprise, Cullen blushed bright red and that and simply said, “Ah.” Kate looked from Leliana to Cullen in confusion.

“This will be child’s play by comparison,” Leliana went on.

“Infiltrating the castle is a lovely idea,” Dorian said, agreeably. “It’s got that whole cloak-and-dagger thing going on. I like that.”

“You don’t strike me as being one for stealth, Vint,” Bull said, glaring down at Dorian with his good eye.

“I could say the same for you, _Bull_ ,” Dorian replied.

“So we sneak into the castle and…what?” Kate asked. “Assassinate Alexius?”

“An unfortunate thought,” Dorian said, frowning. “But probably for the best.”

“Are you hearing yourselves?” Cullen asked them all. “Yesterday morning we sent aid to the mages, and now you’re planning an assassination!”

“All in a day’s work,” Leliana said in a sing-song voice.

“We need the templars,” Cullen insisted. “At least as backup.”

“The templars won’t help,” Kate said, sounding exasperated now. “We need to deal with this immediately.”

“We can do it tonight,” Leliana said.

“Tonight?” Cullen repeated.

“We need a distraction while I get my people into place.” Leliana thought a moment, then nodded at Kate and said, “We can use you.”

“Me?” Kate blinked.

“No,” Cullen scowled.

“Pity it can’t be me,” Dorian said. “I’m quite good at distracting people.”

“I’ll just bet,” Bull grumbled. It may have been Dorian’s imagination, but the giant seemed to be looking at Dorian’s rear end.

“I’ll do it,” Kate said. “Alexius already asked me to join him at the castle…”

“Ah, yes of course,” Dorian agreed. “The whole teatime-turned-into-attempted-murder. Very popular in Tevinter. Full points for style.”

“No,” Cullen said again. “It’s too dangerous. There has to be another way.”

“I’ll be fine, Cullen,” Kate told him. “This will be just like the mire. Trust the people you’re working with, remember?”

“No,” Cullen said, slicing his hand through the air. “If we lose the mark, we lose our only chance of closing the breach. I won’t allow it.”

“The mark?” Kate repeated. “Well. Glad to know I…” But she said that softly and then her voice trailed away and Cullen did not hear. Nor did he seem to notice when a hurt expression fell over her face and she looked away.

“I don’t see we have much choice,” Leliana said. Cullen appeared to have heard that.

“Tactically, this is a disaster,” Cullen he told the spymaster.

Kate lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. It might have been a trick of the light, but Dorian thought he saw a fine frost on her skin.

“Perhaps we should discuss this at camp?” she asked crisply. “I think we could all use a few minutes to think through our options.”

“Very well,” Cullen grumbled, but Kate didn’t seem to be waiting for his answer. She had already turned on her heel and was headed up the hill.

“The Herald is right,” Leliana said. “Let us table this discussion until we reach camp.”

“Don’t you mean bale the discussion?” Dorian chuckled.

When Leliana frowned at him, he added, “Because you’re using bales instead of…” He stopped there and shook his head. “Never mind.”

“That’s terrible,” Bull said.

“Everyone’s a critic,” Dorian sighed.

“This is insane,” Cullen grumbled to himself as he and Leliana started to walk away. “And this ringing in my head isn’t helping.”

“It will work out, commander,” Leliana told him. “History has a way of repeating itself, after all.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” the man muttered. He hunched his furry shoulders and wandered after the archer-woman. Dorian watched them leave, caught between amusement and disbelief.

So _these_ were the heretical leaders of the dreaded Inquisition? These people were nowhere near as organized as they were reported to be. Nor did they have a clear plan to take over the Chantry, the world, or even Ferelden. In fact, they seemed to be struggling to take on the simplest of goals: getting the breach closed and keeping their Herald alive in the process. Yet for all their obvious foibles, Dorian rather liked them. True, they bickered and argued, but they did so like…family.

A lower-born family, obviously, Dorian amended. No altus-class family would dare to be as honest and considerate as this lot. It would be far too plebeian.

It was then that Dorian realized that the bald elf had disappeared. Dorian now stood alone in the gorge with the Iron Bull. The cool stream burbled along behind them, and the setting sun cast a rosy glow all about them. In the evening light, the Iron Bull’s skin was more pink than gray, all slicked with sweat and blood.

“So, Vint…” Bull began.

“The name is Altus Dorian Pavus,” Dorian said, using his formal title.

“The boss is my responsibility, _Vint_ ,” the qunari said, laying special emphasis on that word. “Get her killed…”

“And you’ll do nasty things to me?” Dorian raised a brow. “What a pity. I would have hoped you were clever enough to come up with an original threat. But then, the qunari do everything by the book, don’t they?”

“Oh, I’m a _very_ creative person,” Bull replied, “But you didn’t let me finish my threat. Guess you’ll never know what I had planned for you.” His craggy face split into a wide grin, and he winked at Dorian.

For one brief, disarming moment, Dorian just stared, utterly transfixed. That smile made the giant appear canny and clever and good-humored all at once. That was more appealing to Dorian than any amount of sweat-slicked muscle. Dorian jerked his gaze away and resisted the urge to tug at his collar.

“I’ve got my eye on you, Vint,” the qunari warned.

“Enjoy the view,” Dorian replied, as carelessly as he could. Then he quickly walked away.

It turned out that the qunari was quite the literalist. For as Dorian headed up the hill, he felt Bull’s gaze upon him the entire way, hot as the Tevinter sun.

* * *

“You know,” Robert said, looking out at the sunset. “I never thought of myself as being a particularly fastidious man. But this camping-out business is almost as bad as the dungeon.”

“This isn’t a camp,” Cole told him. “It’s a ruin.”

And so it was. This cottage was a ruin just like all the other crumbling buildings they’d passed. Robert had been on the run for only one afternoon, and already he was tired of the Ferelden landscape.

Still, Robert thought, the day could have gone worse. He could have been recaptured. As it was, getting out the castle had been absurdly easy. Robert had wanted to steal a horse, but Cole had warned him not to. What was it the lad had said? “Envy will eat it.”

Robert had thought that was a better argument for taking the poor beasts out of the demon’s reach, but Cole was most insistent. So instead, they had walked up to the front gate on foot. Then, they waited.

Cole and Robert had been standing there for only a minute or so when the large gates had opened. Robert had stepped forward to run through, but Cole had held him back. It was a good thing, too. At that moment, a man had ridden into the courtyard, his horse covered with lash-marks and heaving from exertion. It was a cruel way to treat an animal, Robert had thought, but then he had gotten a good look at the rider. It seemed the rider was more beast than his mount, really.

The new arrival to the fortress had been as pale as the underbelly of a blighted dwarf. His dark hair had hung lank about his face, his eyes were bloodshot, and he glowed slightly. Or that may have been the effect of all those red crystals set into his armor. Robert had thought that the man had looked like he had one foot in the grave.

“He _does_ ,” Cole had whispered, shrinking back in fear. Robert had decided that the boy knew what he was talking about. When the man spoke, his voice had been as rough as his looks.

“Where’s Denam?” the man had demanded. “Has he got ‘em all changed yet?”

“Who are you, sirrah?” one of the gate-guards had asked. But his companion guard was a little better informed.

“Samson? But that’s impossible. You were disgraced and left to rot in Kirkwall.”

 _Oh, well done,_ Robert had thought, rolling his eyes. Really. Did that guard have a death wish? Anyone could see this fellow was trouble.

As if to prove Robert’s point, the armored man had sneered and said, “It’s _General_ Samson now. And you’ll see how far I’ve risen in the ranks when the Master arrives.”

What a bastard, Robert had thought. This Samson sounded just like Freddy: a little man hiding in too-big armor.

And yet, Samson’s arrival had provided the perfect diversion for Robert’s escape. That was the other failing of gate-guards. They were so easily distracted.

“Yes,” Cole had said, as if he could sense Robert’s eagerness. “We should go now.”

And so they had. Robert and the spirit-boy had run for the gates, and not a single head had turned at their passing. They had slipped out of the gatehouse just as the portcullis had come crashing down behind them. They had dashed for the trees and no one had sounded the alarm. And from there, Robert and Cole had put as much distance between themselves and the fortress as they could.

Robert now looked down at his muddy boots, and considered how much further they still had to go.

“You know,” Robert mused, “When I get to Haven, the first thing I’m going to do is take a bath. I’ve never been so filthy.”

“You should warn Haven of the danger first,” Cole advised him.

“Well, yes, obviously,” Robert agreed. “But after that.”

“You should let Cassandra know you’re alive.”

“Ah,” Robert grinned, even though it made his bruised face hurt. “Good thought. I look forward to that. Though I should like to be clean before I see her.”

“And you should tell them about the red…”

“Yes, yes,” Robert waved these considerations away. “After all the truly important things are done, I will take a bath.”

“I’ve never had a bath,” Cole said. “I wonder what they’re like.”

“I’m sure we can get you one in Haven,” Robert told him. “But just to be clear, you’ll need to leave me alone while I take mine. I’m most grateful for your help these past few days, but I must draw the line of privacy somewhere.”

“Privacy?” Cole repeated. He said it as though the word were a strange garment he was trying on, and he couldn’t tell the neck-hole from the arm-holes.

“Nevermind,” Robert sighed.

The sun sank low over the forest, and Robert gazed out of the ruin. From here, the bare hillside appeared an island in a lake of forest. The peaks of the pine trees swayed like waves in the breeze. Robert wanted to imagine that the templar fortress was a sunken ship beneath those waters, never to be seen again. He supposed that made his ruin a lighthouse, the shelter for a lone rogue on the run.

“Not a lighthouse,” Cole told Robert. “This was a windmill.”

“Was it now?” Robert asked. That Cole had listened in on Robert’s thoughts did not startle Robert anymore.

“Turning air into work,” Cole murmured. “Turning work into food. It’s like magic that doesn’t need the Fade.”

“Good old-fashioned peasant technology,” Robert said, patting the stone wall affectionately. “What will they think of next?”

“The other windmill is ruined, too,” Cole told Robert in a whisper, as if imparting some great secret.

“Is it now?” Robert whispered back, just to be conversational. Cole nodded emphatically.

“The left hand reaches for the door in the rubble. She thinks of the ride she took upon the sails. Those were softer times. Everything that came after was harder. Except the lover with eyes like water.”

“Like water, were they?” he asked Cole. Even if he couldn’t follow all of Cole’s ramblings, Robert figured he should at least be polite and formulate replies. “They must have been blue eyes then? Or wet eyes? She had hayfever? Allergies?”

“He knows she’s more than a tool for turning the sky,” Cole told Robert, sadly. “But the demon’s scream still echoes around in his skull. He couldn’t hear her hurt over the howling in his head.”

“A pity for him, then,” Robert said, not really sure what domestic dispute Cole was on about just now. “In my experience, when a man annoys a woman, it doesn’t really matter how he did it. There will be the Void to pay regardless.”

“She felt the lonely cold,” Coll said. “But she kept the frost in this time. She was proud of that.”

“Bully for her,” Robert said. “Now, Cole, I have a riddle for you: when the tall archer’s belly grumbles, the pale boy finds him food…where?”

“That’s not a riddle,” Cole said, cocking his head to one side.

“You’re right,” Robert nodded. “That’s me saying I’m ravenous and haven’t seen a bit of game out here all day.”

“The animals stayed away when the templars arrived.”

“And thus nature shows more sense than men,” Robert sighed. “Any idea where we can find food?” He supposed he ought to have stolen more from the larder after all.

“Barris has food,” Cole suggested.

“I am _not_ going back,” Robert said, stiffening.

“Pride pocketed, practical and prone. He doesn’t realize what it means to carry the red.”

More Cole-speak, Robert thought, gritting his teeth. If he could turn nonsense words into food, he’d have plenty to eat.

“At least tell me that we’re not far from a city or a village,” Robert pressed. “Could we steal a pie from a window sill or something? Maker, I’d stoop to that tired gimmick if only to fill my belly.”

“We’re miles and miles away from anywhere,” Cole answered. “It’s safer here.”

“So we’re safe and yet starving,” Robert grumbled. “Marvelous.”

“You don’t think it’s marvelous. You think it’s terrible. Why do you say something that means the opposite of what you mean?”

“Because sarcastic humor is very effective at fending off fear and anger,” Robert said.

“The templars should have used that rather than lyrium,” Cole said.

“Ha!” Robert laughed. “Yes, true. Only the Chantry can’t control sarcasm. It’s a notoriously volatile substance. Always poking holes in pomp and circumstance. Anyhow, didn’t you say there was going to be a map at this ruin? You did say that, didn’t you? Or was that a metaphor for something else?”

“It wasn’t a metaphor.”

“Where’s the map, then?” Robert waved a hand. “Unless there’s a secret chamber or something, I’m not seeing anything but stones and rotting timbers.”

“The map isn’t here yet,” Cole replied.

“The map is not here _yet_ ,” Robert repeated. “So you can predict the future, now? That’s a useful spirit trick.”

“No one can predict the future,” Cole told him. “Not mortals. Not spirits. Not even the ones who wear the names of gods.”

“Then I don’t see how…” Robert trailed off suddenly, for just then, he heard a sound out in the forest. It was the familiar clank of plate armor.

Robert was on his feet like a shot. He nocked an arrow to the string and crossed to the hole in the wall that opened onto the empty hilltop. Just then, a familiar face appeared over the rise.

“Barris?” Robert said, almost dropping his arrow in surprise. He then recovered himself and raised his bow.

“I _won’t_ go back,” he told the templar. “I don’t care how many men you have coming, I’ll take as many as I can with me before I go. You with me, Cole?”

“No,” Cole said, softly. “I won’t hurt Barris.”

“Spoil-sport,” Robert scowled.

“Stand down,” Barris called back. He held his hands up, though Robert spotted a shield at his back and a sword at his side. “It’s just me. I came alone.”

“How do I know that?” Robert asked, his good eye narrowing in suspicion.

“He’s telling the truth,” Cole said. “He didn’t know who else to trust.”

“Oh, in that case,” Robert said, letting his bow drop at once. “Welcome aboard, Barris.”

The sight of Robert with a bow hadn’t startled Barris. But this sudden change in Robert’s demeanor did. Barris paused, frowning as he studied the ruin.

“Is it here?” he asked. “The, um, spirit? Is that why you changed your mind so suddenly?”

“Cole is quite convincing,” Robert told him. “And he’s been right so far. Well, the bits where I understand him, he’s been right.”

“And he’s here?” Barris wanted to know.

“He’s up there.” Robert pointed. Cole had materialized on one of the crumbling walls, his feet dangling down. He looked quite pleased that he’d gotten the two men safely to the hilltop.

“I really should get him some better shoes,” Robert said. “Looks like he’s got elven boats on his feet. And how about you?” he added, turning to Barris. “You sure you don’t have anyone following you?”

“Quite sure,” Barris had reached the open hole in the wall now and looked in. “I slipped away in the chaos after Samson arrived.”

“We saw him come in the gate,” Robert said. “Nasty piece of work, that one.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Barris said. “I…” He stopped there, then frowned.

“Maker, I don’t know quite how to do this, Trevelyan.”

“It’s Robert,” Robert corrected. “And what is it you’re having trouble with? Stepping into the building? Put one foot in first, then the other…”

“No, not that,” Barris shook his head. “I don’t know how to, well, join you. After everything that happened back there…”

Robert cocked his head to one side. “Cole is right. You’re really not the type to be working a torture chamber.”

“I… Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” Robert said pleasantly. “And Cole said you’d have food with you. I do hope he was right about that.”

“He was,” Barris said, looking up at the walls. “I have some food. What little I could gather.”

“Then give me food and all is forgiven,” Robert told him. “Add in some ale and I’ll even consider you a friend.”

Barris chuckled at that.

“No ale I’m afraid, but I’ll gladly buy you one the next chance I have.”

“Done then,” Robert said, holding his hand out. Barris shook it. Above their heads, Cole kicked his feet against the wall and grinned.

“You’re far more forgiving than I would have been in your shoes,” Barris said as he settled down in one corner and drew off his pack.

“I’m the better man,” Robert replied easily, settling back into his makeshift chair in the other corner. “Always have been. Oh, now that I think on it, you probably have maps, too.”

“No maps,” Barris said, but before Robert could glance accusingly at Cole, the man added, “But I’m as good as a map, I suppose. I was born in the next holding over. I know these parts like the back of my hand.”

Robert looked up to find Cole smiling.

“You said you can’t predict the future,” Robert said, “But this was pretty close.”

“Future?” Barris asked.

“I hear people,” Cole told Robert.

“Hear, predict,” Robert said. “Virtually the same thing in this case.”

“Oh, you’re talking to the, um…thing,” Barris turned back to his pack.

“I wish I understood people so well as Cole does,” Robert said to the room more generally. “I certainly underestimated Freddy.”

“What happened with Freddy?” Barris asked, cautiously. “I mean, obviously, the dungeon, was, um…” He cleared his throat. “Why were you down there?”

“Oh, that’s a long story,” Robert said. “No, actually, it’s a short story. Freddy is a tit and I hate him. Stuck me in that cell for… Well, I don’t rightly know. How long has it been since the Conclave exploded?”

Barris paused with his hand in his pack. “That was well over a month ago.”

“A month?” Robert gaped. “Maker’s breath that’s a long time. I hope she hasn’t forgotten me.”

“What’s that?” Barris asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering whether Seeker Cass… I say! What in the Maker’s name is _that_?”

For just then, Barris pulled something out of his pack. It was a small vial, like the kind used for lyrium. Only this one glowed _red._

Robert shuddered at once. In a flash, Cole disappeared from the top of the wall and reappeared at Robert’s back, huddling behind Robert’s broad shoulders

“Is that…?” Robert began in disbelief.

“Blighted, bleeding, broken, bent,” Cole murmured, eyes wide. “Tunnels, tainted turns, tried and torn and trailing.”

“And now you’ve sent Cole into a panic,” Robert said, angrily. “What do you mean, bringing that rubbish here?”

“The vial you gave me wasn’t very much,” Barris explained.

“You polished it off already?” Robert gaped at him.

“I was nearly two days overdue for a draught,” Barris returned.

“So you used it _all_?” Robert scowled. “Maker’s breath.”

“It’s a long way to the Frostbacks,” Barris went on. “You expect me to make that trip without anything to sustain me? I needed it all. And I needed to bring something along too, even if it is the low-quality stuff.”

“Low quality?” Robert snorted. “That’s one way to put it. Sort of like calling poison ‘low quality wine.’”

“I need it,” Barris said, firmly.

“It’s upsetting Cole,” Robert said. But Barris couldn’t see the lad, and so he couldn’t see the fear in Cole’s eyes.

“I’ll put it in my pocket,” Barris said, sliding it into a pouch that hung from his armor. “There, is that better?”

Robert glanced over his shoulder. “How about it, Cole?”

“Don’t let him take it,” Cole whispered.

“Of course not,” Robert agreed. Though how Robert was to come between a templar and his lyrium, he had no clue.

“What’s for dinner then?” Robert asked brightly, hoping to change the subject.

“Just bread and cheese,” Barris said, looking back into the pack. “You didn’t leave much in the larder.”

“No, I didn’t did I?” Robert chuckled.

Barris shook his head and frowned. Then he produced a loaf of bread from his pack. This was followed by a hunk of cheese, and the templar broke them in half and handed them over.

“Maker bless every path you walk upon, friend,” Robert said, cradling the food in his hands as though it was a priceless treasure.

“It’s the least I can do,” Barris said.

“Not the _least_ ,” Robert said, around a mouthful of bread. “But it’s a good start.”

“Don’t let him take the red,” Cole said, once again sitting high above their heads. “Don’t let it grow his insides out.”

Barris and Robert ate in silence. Meanwhile, the sun sank low over the wood and a few faint stars winked out of the purpling sky. The wind whistled over the ruin, sweet and pine-scented at first, but then it’s smell began to change. Robert sniffed the air and caught a whiff of something sour. It was like rotted meat.

All of a sudden, Cole shot to his feet. He stood on the wall, balancing on his tip-toes.

“What?” Robert said, standing as well. Robert spoke around a mouthful of food, and Barris looked up at him in confusion.

“He’s coming,” Cole whispered.

Robert grabbed his bow at once. Barris stiffened and dropped his hunk of bread.

“What is it?” Barris asked, reaching for his sword.

“I don’t know,” Robert replied. “I smell…”

“Something foul,” Barris finished for him, sniffing the air as well. “Wild beasts?”

“I saw no tracks in the woods,” Robert said.

“Nor did I,” Barris agreed.

The two of them stood at the threshold of the cottage, looking out of the crumbling wall and over the hillside. Robert had his bow, Barris shield and sword.

“Cole?” Robert asked the boy. “What can you see?”

“A lot,” the boy replied.

“Alright,” Robert snorted, kicking himself for not being more specific. “But what’s out there? What are we smelling?”

“Grabbing, grasping, greedy,” Cole murmured. He stepped off of the wall, and his second step landed on the ground as if he’d stepped down from a stair, not an eight-foot drop. “He hurt and haunted and hated you. But Samson doesn’t need his face. Now you’re his only way out.”

“No,” Robert said, fiercely, even as fear coursed through him. “Not now. Not when I just got free.”

“What did Cole say?” Barris asked, evidently alarmed by Robert’s reaction.

“It’s Envy,” Robert said placing the arrow to the bowstring. Though a single arrow didn’t seem much good against a demon, Robert thought.

“Envy?” Barris repeated. “As in an envy _demon_? Maker’s breath. The Chantry teaches that they hide in plain sight, stealing the lives of…”

“The Lord Seeker,” Robert said, flatly. “Cole told me he’s been impersonating the Lord Seeker.”

“The Lord Seeker?” Barris’ eyes flashed. “That _villain_ ,” Barris hissed. “And I allowed him to shame me for my disbelief.”

Just then, a shrill cry rent the air - a scream from the forest that chilled Robert’s blood.

“I won’t let him in,” Robert said, half to himself. “I will _not_ let that monster into my head again.”

“You can resist him,” Cole said, softly. Robert turned to find the boy right beside him. “Envy knows you can.”

Robert didn’t find that particularly comforting. The past few times he ‘resisted’ Envy, he spent weeks trapped in dreams to do it. At Robert’s side, Barris stepped over the low wall of the cottage and out onto the hillside.

“Come on,” he said. “We don’t want to be trapped in here when it comes.”

“We should run,” Robert suggested.

“We can’t leave a demon to roam these woods,” Barris replied over his shoulder. “We must find it and kill it.” He continued out over the grass, a lone soldier against the sunset-reddened sky.

“Must we?” Robert said through gritted teeth. What a very templar sort of thing to say. Against a demon, an archer would be of limited use. Robert would much rather flee to Haven than stand and fight.

But before Robert could say anything more, Cole gasped. Robert turned to find the boy staring in the other direction - to the west. His eyes were wide, his pale face a mask of fear. Cole began to shake, until his head was waving back and forth wildly.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no!”

“What?” Robert demanded, alarmed at the boy’s reaction. Barris hadn’t noticed of course, and was striding off in the other direction.

“Not dimmed,” Cole murmured, wringing his hands. “Not diminished, not darkened. But gone as if the light never was. The anchor’s tie is cut. The sky is loosed.”

Robert looked up. He saw nothing overhead but a few winking stars.

“Cole,” he said, looking down, sharply. “We have an Envy demon coming. Remember him? Envy?” Cole looked at Robert in astonishment, as if he’d forgotten Robert was there.

“Envy?” Cole murmured.

“That’s right. Envy. Ennnnnvy,” he drew the word out, as one might do when teaching a child. “And Barris and I need your help.”

“No way to help now,” Cole whimpered. “Nothing to keep it all from pouring over, waves over the dam, following me into this world.” He stared at Robert, and then, in a very small, strained voice, he said:

“She’s gone.”

Just then, a scream rent the air, high and shrill. Robert whirled around. There was no mistaking that sound. He’d heard it time and again when he managed to push the Envy demon from his mind. It had echoed off the stones of the dungeon. Right now, Robert felt the weight of all that dark fortress pressing down upon him.

“No light, no key, no anchor,” Cole whispered, his words a mere rasp after the demon’s scream. “Now there is no Haven.”

“Cole!” Robert shouted into the boy’s face, but it was too late.

For this time, when the scream echoed over the hillside, it was accompanied by the sound of breaking branches and heavy footfalls. At a distance, Barris shouted in alarm. And Robert spun around to get his first look at Envy’s true form. Robert’s jaw dropped open.

“That’s Envy?” he gaped.

The creature looked like a galloping pile of penises and elbows. And to think, that thing had been _in his head_. What a disturbing thought.

Envy screamed, causing it’s penisy face to contort around a mouthful of sharp teeth. Good Maker above, Robert thought. No wonder the thing went about stealing other people’s faces. Even someone as ugly as the Lord Seeker was an improvement over _that_.

Robert now realized that he’d left Barris to face the demon alone. The templar’s earlier bravado faded when faced with Envy’s size. The creature was as large as a wyvern, though much more spindly. Barris stared up at it in horror, then took a step back, and another step back, and another. The demon laughed, or at least, Robert _thought_ that was the sound coming out of it’s maw. Barris stiffened, and for a moment, Robert almost thought the creature was speaking to Barris, though Robert couldn’t hear any words.

Then, suddenly, Barris stabbed the tip of his sword into the ground. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the vial of red lyrium. Robert couldn’t tell which was more shocking - that Barris would treat a sword that way, or that he would stop for a tipple at a time like this.

Barris drank the lyrium and the Envy demon watched. Or not ‘watched’, exactly. Envy had no eyes, so Robert supposed it was listening or waiting instead. But the moment Barris dropped the empty vial to the ground, it chuffed, the smaller claws of it’s upper arms curling in glee.

Robert decided he’d had enough of all this templar idiocy and demonic posturing.

“Come on, Cole!” he shouted, and for his own part, Robert fitted an arrow to his bow and let it fly.

The arrow shot by Barris, and sunk into one of Envy’s clawing arms. The demon screamed and reared, Barris snagged his sword and charged.

And Cole did nothing. As Robert fitted another arrow to his string, as Envy dodged and Barris attacked, Cole just stood there, rubbing the thumb of his right hand into the palm of his left - over and over and over again.

“Cole!” Robert shouted, now on his third arrow, and yet Envy hadn’t flagged a bit under the assault. “Help us!”

But Cole said nothing. And in that moment Barris froze. He came up on his tip-toes as if a string had hauled him upward from the top of his head. His sword and shield fell from his hands, and then, quite suddenly, he dropped flat onto his face. Envy disappeared with a shriek, and Robert and Cole were left alone on the sunset-red hillside.

“No!” Robert shouted. He shot forward, but already he knew it was hopeless. When he reached Barris’ side, the templar was twitching, his eyelids fluttering as if he were caught in a nightmare.

“You _fool_ ,” Robert hissed. Though he wasn’t sure if he was calling Barris a fool, or if the fool was Robert himself. Of course Envy would try for Barris’ face. And Robert hadn’t protected the templar in the slightest. Now the demon had him. It was only a matter of time before the templar rose as an abomination.

Or wait, Robert wondered. Could templars abominate? That was something Kate would know, but Robert certainly didn’t. And now he was stuck on this hillside with a twitching templar and a trembling spirit. For at Robert’s side, Cole did nothing but wring his pale hands.

“He needed more time,” the spirit whispered, looking down at Barris in despair. “ _She_ needed more time. All of them. All of us. We all needed more time.”


	33. Backward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the future holds just one road

“The templar took Robert’s head with one stroke.”

Leliana pointed at the executioner’s block. It stood in the center of Redcliffe’s courtyard, stained black with the blood of too many victims to count. Kate could not stand to look at it. Instead, she turned to her companions, her eyes welling with tears. The Nightingale’s eyes glittered glacial blue in her blight-ruined face. By contrast, Cassandra’s red-glowing eyes were full of grief, though she did not weep.

“There was nothing we could do,” Cassandra said. “Nothing _I_ could do. Robert fell and…”

But the Seeker did not seem to be able to say anything else. She turned sharply away. Kate could not even begin to comfort her, not when she was feeling so desolate herself.

“The templar glowed,” Leliana went on, her soft accent doing nothing to gentle her words. “We never saw his face in all that red. He brought Robert to Alexius, turned him over for torture.”

“Maker’s breath,” Kate murmured. Tears burned at the corners of Kate’s eyes, and she felt her throat grow tight. But she refused to cry in front of Leliana. The Nightingale did not appreciate pity, Kate had found. She sought only to undo what had been done here.

“I saw it all from my cell there,” Leliana went on. “That was before the dungeons, before they put in the blight into me. That was before the red lyrium filled the whole castle.”

“And the templar was glowing red, too?” Dorian asked. “Did he bring the lyrium into the castle, I wonder?”

“Perhaps,” Leliana said. She shrugged, as if the details of these things no longer mattered to her. From a few feet away, Kate heard Cassandra take a deep, shuddering breath.

Kate felt similarly winded. She couldn’t take in any of this. Forget the _theory_ of time-travel. The journey itself had bent Kate’s mind to the point of breaking. If this future truly came to pass, if _this_ world was what awaited them should Kate fail….

 _Andraste save us._ A single tear tracked down Kate’s cheek.

Just an hour ago by Kate’s reckoning, she and Dorian had been savoring their victory over Alexius. Leliana’s plan to infiltrate the castle had gone off without a hitch. The scouts had taken out Alexius’ guards, Kate and Dorian had demanded that he surrender the mages…

But Alexius did not surrender. Instead, he had drawn a simple amulet from his coat. And with it, he had sent Kate and Dorian forward into the future.

The future was a terrible sight. The world Kate had known was now a ruined shell of its former self. Kate could feel it in the very air around her. The red lyrium gave off a faint sound - like the scraping of nails on a classroom chalkboard. The Veil was in shreds, and the nearness of the Fade sent a shiver up Kate’s spine. It was like every bit of arcane energy in the world had turned to poison. Without the mark, the breach roared overhead, filling the entire sky.

_If we lose the mark, we lose our only chance of closing the breach._

The words echoed through Kate’s mind, and another tear tracked down her cheek. When Cullen had said that, Kate had felt quite stung by the words. She wasn’t some ancient artifact, some ring or sword from out of a legend. The mark was attached to her, but it didn’t define her. Or so she thought then. Because now she could see that Cullen was right. By risking the mark, she had risked the entire world. She _was_ the mark now. And if she had to sacrifice herself to keep this future from happening, then she would. Her life was a small price to pay. She only hoped she could get back to the past in order to make that transaction. The bargain held no meaning in this dark future.

“We have to get back,” Kate murmured.

“Obviously,” Dorian replied. “That was the first item on the agenda, wasn’t it?”

“Agenda,” Kate murmured, blinking away another tear.

Yes, an agenda was exactly what she needed. She felt overwhelmed by grief and fear and guilt. She needed to center herself. She needed to outline the big picture and the small details so that she did not forget them. If she did get back to the future, she would need to remember as much as she could. Kate reached for the book she kept attached to her belt, and drew it out.

“Not exactly the time and place for journaling, is it?” Dorian asked with a frown. “We need to keep moving.”

Kate ignored him. Instead, she wrote:

_To Do_

_Item one: return to past._

“Yes, well, obviously,” Dorian said, reading over her shoulder. “Don’t you think we could _do_ that rather than writing about it?” Kate ignored him and scribbled on:

_Item two: Robert._

“Robert?” Dorian asked.

“He’s alive,” Kate said, and suddenly it felt like the one light in all this shadow. “My cousin is alive.”

“Not now,” Leliana said, flatly.

“No, not now,” Kate agreed. “But if Alexius executed him in the past year, then he was alive a year ago. I can still save him.”

“Save him?” Cassandra said. Her eyes glowed fiercely in her blood-stained face. “Then that means…”

“That we can save you, too,” Dorian explained, patiently. “And we will. I promise.”

“Yes, I understood that part,” Cassandra said irritably, but Kate was still writing as quickly as she could.

_Item three: Emp killed. Dem. army. R.lyr. everywhr._

This was short hand for ‘Empress of Orlais killed by assassins,’ ‘demon army ravaged Thedas’, and ‘red lyrium everywhere.’ That was not clear to Dorian however, for he frowned over her shoulder.

“Is that going to make any sense to you when you get back? Are you even going to be able to read your own handwriting at the rate you’re going?”

_Item four: mark Cullen._

She meant ‘Cullen was right about the mark’. But apparently that meaning wasn’t clear to the others. For Leliana laughed then, a cold, hollow sound more like a cough from ruined lungs.

“Cullen _was_ marked,” Leliana said, darkly. “Alexius saw to that.”

“What do you mean?” Kate asked, looking up from her writing.

“Cullen attacked Redcliffe castle again and again,” Cassandra explained. “Maker only knows what he and Josephine were thinking. The Inquisition fell in the attempt to free us.”

“But it’s impossible to take this castle,” Kate protested. “Cullen knew that. Why would he risk our people for a lost cause?”

“What else could he do?” Leliana said. “He had to get you out.”

“But we weren’t here,” Dorian pointed out.

“He didn’t know that,” Cassandra said, scowling. “How could he?”

“And what could he do without the mark?” Leliana added.

What indeed, Kate wondered? She willed herself not to start crying again. She willed herself not to think of the soldiers and Cullen, fighting on in a hopeless battle for this place.

“After the fourth assault, he got careless,” Leliana went on, coldly. “He always led his men from the middle. Never stayed far enough away from the fray. But that time, he came to the front lines. Alexius caught him. You can still see the last of him there.”

Leliana pointed at the gates, and Kate now realized that what she had discounted as general rubbish and debris was, in fact, bodies. There were corpses strewn all through the courtyard, in various states of decay. But one body was lanced on a pike. The face had long since rotted away, and the fur-and-scarlet mantle was a dingy, water-logged gray. But a clump of hair stuck to the skull, the golden waves a flag of surrender upon the battlements.

Kate’s lost the battle with her tears. They spilled over in one great, gasping sob.

“Good gracious!” Dorian exclaimed in alarm. “Oh, I say, Kate.”

But Kate couldn’t answer him. All she managed was to sputter and gasp out even more tears.

“They hung him there so we all would behave like that,” Cassandra said. “They wanted us to see him and despair.”

“And it worked,” Leliana said.

Kate found she couldn’t speak at all, could barely move. Seeing Cullen like that - it was _wrong_ , all wrong. Cullen was too strong to die, too stubborn. Kate was the frail mage with the mark. She supposed somewhere, deep down, she had assumed that if anyone was to die for the Inquisition’s cause, it would be her.

 _No more death,_ Kate thought, desperately. There had been too much of it. She was determined to prevent as much of it as she could. And she would start with Cullen. She would go back, she would save him, and everything would be right again.

_Please Maker, let it be right again._

Kate desperately wiped away her tears and croaked, “We need to go.”

“We do,” Leliana agreed coldly. “We must get you back to the past as quickly as possible.”

“And save Robert,” Cassandra agreed. And because Kate was so distraught, she did not consider this remark as strange in any way.

”‘Back to the past,’” Dorian repeated in amusement. “You’re both taking this in stride.”

“When the choice lies between action and death, I know my mind,” Cassandra said.

“Good point,” Dorian agreed. “And you’re quite right. The sooner we get back, the sooner we undo this mess.”

“You say that so easily,” Leliana said, bitterly. “To you, this is all a game. Or a joke.”

“This is no game to us,” Kate said, looking Leliana right in the eye. “We’re going to go back and set this right, or die trying.”

“How easily you make that promise now,” a new voice mused. “Yet how far will you go to see it done?”

Solas turned to Kate then, his eyes glowing red in his corpse-like face. Since they had found him in the dungeons, he had said little. Kate had suspected it was grief or lyrium which kept him silent. Or perhaps torment had muted him, just as it had brought out a raging fury in Leliana.

“We’ll go as far as is needed,” Dorian told the elf. “We’re rather talking about the end of the world here, or didn’t you notice?”

“I notice that it’s nothing to you both,” Solas said, staring at Dorian without blinking. “This blighted world is just a swift nightmare, a vision that will pass when once you wake. And yet, it was our plan that dealt this blow.”

“What do you mean it was our plan’s fault?” Dorian bristled. “Our plan went off without a hitch. Leliana got into the castle - sorry how that ended for you by the way - and the rest of us caught Alexius fair and square. The only bit we didn’t count on was him casting that spell so recklessly.”

“Just as I said,” Solas murmured. “‘Twas we who dealt this blow.”

“Then we’ll fix it, Solas,” Kate told him. “I promise. We’ll make sure none of this will come to pass.”

Solas stared at Kate for a moment, his eyes glowing a deeper red.

“If only there were tunnels further back,” he said, so softly Kate almost missed it. “But let us seek the portal that we know.”

“Agreed,” Cassandra said. “We have our plan. Let us do it.”

“We are already dead,” Leliana agreed. “But we will make sure that you live, Herald. And that you return to stop this.”

Kate couldn’t answer that pledge. Leliana had always struck Kate as unfriendly - Solas, too. But now she realized that what they both lacked in warmth, they more than made up for in conviction. As for Cassandra, the Seeker was already adjusting her sword and shield.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Kate just nodded, again unable to speak. She would return to the past, Kate promised herself, and in doing so, she would save everyone she had failed. She would save Leliana and Solas, and Cassandra and Cullen and Robert, too. She would save them or die trying.

Finding her voice at last, Kate lifted her head. “Onward, then,” she said.

“Backward, really, when you think about it,” Dorian chuckled.

Kate could not entirely appreciate his humor, though she guessed he joked to keep fear at bay. So she nodded and answered, softly:

“It seems that backward is the only way.”

“Indeed,” Solas murmured. “Backward is now the only road.”


	34. Faces of Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robert gets another shot and Kate takes her time

“That’s Envy?” Robert gaped.

And to think, that penisy-elbowy thing had been in his head. What a disturbing thought.

Envy screamed, causing its gruesome face to contort around a mouthful of sharp teeth. Good Maker above, Robert thought. No wonder the thing went about stealing other people’s faces. Even someone as ugly as the Lord Seeker was an improvement over that.

And yet, even as he thought that, Robert found Envy’s true face was…familiar. It was as if Robert had seen it before - _thought_ this before. But he couldn’t have, could he? Certainly not. This was the first time he’d seen Envy in the flesh - wasn’t it?

“She’s back,” Cole gasped. He looked up from his clasped hands, and his pimply face broke into a wide grin. “She came _back!_ “

“Good for her,” Robert snapped, over Envy’s screams. “Come on! We need to help Barris.”

And with that, Robert did a very stupid thing. He ran to join Barris. It was madness, clearly. An archer was no good in a close-quarters fight. But along with this strange sense of deja vu, he felt he needed to save Barris from this attack - even if that meant an archer guarded a knight.

An archer guarding a knight? Insanity. And yet, Robert’s long legs quickly ate up the distance of the hillside. He reached Barris just as the Envy demon reared. Barris took a step back, and then another, and another. And then, to Robert’s horror - but not surprise - Barris stabbed his sword into the ground and reached for his pocket. Robert knew exactly what Barris was reaching for. Even though Robert couldn’t say _how_ he knew, he knew.

Robert sprinted the last few feet to Barris’s side. He snatched the vial of red lyrium from Barris’ fingers, then chucked the vial into the air. It sailed overhead, catching the last of the sun’s light, then hit the ground and shattered on a rock. A foul, brimstone sort of smell filled the air.

Robert breathed a sigh of relief. Barris blinked once. Then he whirled on Robert in a fury.

“What are you doing?” Barris cried. “I needed that to face the demon!”

“Speaking of facing demons,” Robert said, looking over Barris’ shoulder. “Duck!”

Robert dropped to the ground just as Envy’s large, clawed hand began to fall. Barris, however, did not flinch. He just turned and stared as Envy drew near. And then, quite suddenly, Envy vanished. Barris dropped to his knees beside Robert. The templar’s mouth dropped open and his eyes rolled back into his head.

“Damn it all!” Robert shouted. He grabbed Barris by the shoulders and shook him, but the man did not respond. His head lolled to one side, his sword fell from his grip.

“Stupid, stupid!” Robert said, letting Barris drop to the ground. Robert hadn’t quite decided if that ‘stupid’ was meant to describe Barris or himself, but he figured it would do for either of them. He then looked up to find Cole standing there, dual knives in his hands.

“Where in the Void were you just now?” Robert snapped at the boy.

“Watching,” Cole said, cocking his head to one side.

“Ugh,” Robert groaned.

“Barris is possessed, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Robert snapped at Cole. He grabbed an arrow and fitted it to his bow. “Do you want me to kill him before he succumbs to Envy, or will you do it?”

“Give him a moment,” Cole said. He spoke mildly, as if he and Robert were sitting down to tea, not discussing the mercy-killing of a templar. “He just needed a clear head. You gave him that.”

Cole nodded at the spot where the lyrium vial had landed. Already, the grass was dead.

“That’ll leave a mark.”

“This hillside will be forever haunted,” Cole agreed sadly.

“So?” Robert said, wrinkling his nose. “Which one of us kills Barris? I suppose we could draw straws.”

“He has time this time,” Cole replied, calmly.

Whatever _that_ meant, Robert thought. But before Robert could aim his bow at Barris’ throat, the templar’s eyes snapped open wide. And at the same moment, something came lurching out of Barri’s chest - a sort of oily ghost that looked a great deal like Barris himself. The ghost stumbled to its shadowy knees, its glowing yellow eyes downcast. With a roar, the real Barris surged to his feet.

“Get out of my head!” Barris cried. He reached for his shield and sword, but then froze. For as Robert and Barris looked on, the ghostly shape of Envy began to twist, shift, grow taller and broader and took on color and solidity. Now they were staring at a dark-skinned man with deep brown eyes, clad in the finery of a Ferelden lord.

“Wilhem?” Barris gaped.

Envy’s borrowed face grinned. The mouth shifted strangely, as if the demon couldn’t quite keep up its impersonation.

“Hello little brother,” the demon said, though he spoke in a more human-like voice. Barris paused, his arm slackened, but Robert still saw Envy in this form. The hands of this lord were claws, and they curled.

“Get back!” Robert shouted, drawing another arrow and letting it fly. At the same moment, Envy lunged at Barris. Robert’s arrow pushed the creature off-balance, slightly. It stumbled to the side, its borrowed face fading to shadow for a moment before Envy got it back in place.

“Do not mock me!” Barris shouted. His eyes flashed fire, and he bashed Envy back before slashing at the creature. But the demon was far too quick. It whirled around behind Barris, sinking its clawed hands into his shoulder and throat.

“No!” Robert shouted. He drew another arrow, but didn’t dare loose it. The way Envy had it’s arms around Barris, Robert was just as likely to hit the templar as the demon.

“Do you think you can escape so easily?” the demon hissed in Barris’ ear. “I saw your mind. I know your measure. You want _his_ life, don’t you? You want the castle, the lands, the woman…”

“Shut. Up.” Barris choked out each word, even as the demon squeezed at his throat.

“Get off him!” Cole shouted, launching himself at the Envy demon from behind. But two ghostly arms bent backward from the demon’s back. One slashed at Cole and missed, but the other connected, sending the boy flying.

“Cole!” Robert cried, taking a step forward. The Envy-brother turned and snarled at Robert, fangs lengthening in its mouth. But with this distraction, Barris struck. He snapped his head back, slamming his skull into his ‘brother’s’ nose. The demon howled, and that was all the opening Robert needed. He loosed his arrow into ‘Wilhem’s’ eye. Envy screamed and released its grip on Barris.

Barris whirled around, bashing the face that looked so like his own. Then he slashed downward with his sword, but the blade did not connect. For Envy slithered out from under him, quick as thought, and launched itself at Robert. Robert had his arrow ready though, and he aimed it upward as Envy leaped into the air…

And then Robert faltered.

For it was Cassandra who flew at him. It was Cassandra who landed right upon Robert’s chest and knocked him to the ground. And it was Cassandra who held a blade to Robert’s throat. One of her eyes glared at him. The other eye had an arrow shaft sticking out of it.

“Maker’s breath!” Robert hissed. For even though Robert knew it wasn’t _really_ Cassandra, that he hadn’t actually put her eye out, it was still a horrible sight.

“You once resisted me in this guise,” the false-Cassandra purred, drawing a finger along Robert’s cheek. “But see how easily you fall now?”

Robert shuddered at that touch, and his heart begin to pound. For he could see fangs behind those lips, and everything about this felt wrong. And yet, with Cassandra’s destroyed face before him, he couldn’t seem to move.

“Can’t move?” Cassandra chuckled, “Well then. This is the tack I should have taken with you from the start….”

A knife blade burst through the center of Cassandra’s smooth throat. Robert felt his stomach turn, felt the cold slice of fear. Even though he _knew_ this was a rescue, it felt like a betrayal. When he looked up and saw Cole there, another blade poised above Cassandra’s head, Robert could not help but shout:

“No!”

But then Barris was by Cole’s side and Cassandra leaped away…

And then it wasn’t Cassandra. Now it was some boy who looked a great deal like Cole. Only the boy had fire in his hands and threw the flames at Barris. Barris blocked this with his shield, and Robert shook himself.

 _Not Cassandra,_ he told himself, clambering onto his hands and knees and looking for his arrows. _That’s not Cassandra. Or that boy. Or Freddy Stanhope…._

Wait, Freddy Stanhope? Robert’s brows snapped together and he snagged a fallen arrow from the ground.

“Wrong choice, demon!” Robert shouted, drawing the arrow to full draw. “That’s a face I’ll _gladly_ shoot full of arrows.”

It seemed Barris felt similarly. He roared with fury at the sight of Freddy and threw himself at the Envy demon. And so they fought on, Cole and Barris with blades, Robert scrabbling for arrows and launching them into the fray. All the while, Envy whirled about, claws flashing, faces shifting and snarling. There was the Lord Seeker for a moment, then a woman with kind eyes. Barris stumbled at that, but Robert shot her in the temple. And then, to Robert’s shock, there was Kate.

She was a savaged mess, this Kate. The arrow in her eye dripped with blood, and cuts lashed her face. She snapped her hands into the air, and lightning began to crackle around her.

“You wouldn’t hurt me, would you _cousin_?” Kate taunted. “Not the Herald. Not the only person in the world whom you count as a friend–”

This last word was cut short by an arrow. Robert shot the barb right into the creature’s open mouth. It pierced the soft palate and speared through the head and out the other side. The false-Kate choked once, its one whole eye filled with tears of betrayal.

“Don’t look at me like that Envy,” Robert scoffed. “For your information, Kate casts _ice_.”

The false-Kate’s lips trembled around the arrow’s shaft. Then Barris sliced her head off with one stroke. Kate fell, but it was Envy who landed upon the ground. Robert looked down at the fallen demon in disgust.

“Looks like a pile of… Never mind.”

Robert decided he didn’t need to complete that thought. It didn’t matter anyhow. A moment later, Envy disappeared in a cloud of ash, and Robert and Cole and Barris were left standing there.

“Well done, Barris,” Robert said, nodding at the templar. “Well done, Cole.”

“That was…” Barris shivered and looked down at his bloodied sword. “I don’t know what came over me at the beginning there.”

“Envy,” Robert replied. “But he’s gone now. Oh, and look at that. All the arrows I put into him got left behind in a neat pile. Convenient, that.” Robert began to gather them up.

“While we were fighting,” Barris said, slowly. “I thought I saw… I mean, there were moments when I caught a flash of another person with us.”

Robert looked up at once. Cole stood there smiling.

“That was him, wasn’t it?” Barris asked Robert.

“Well then,” Robert chuckled. “It seems you’re losing some of that templar-polish after all, Barris. Well done, you.”

Barris tried to grin, but failed. “Maker’s breath,” he said with a shudder. “This is too much for me. Can we move on? Tonight, I mean. I don’t want to stay here.”

Robert looked at the spot in the distance where the red lyrium had already scorched the grass. While he didn’t much like the idea of traveling by night, he entirely agreed.

“Cole?” he asked the boy.

“Rows of soldiers march into a darkened hall. The banner of the white tower upon red rock flies from the battlements. The noble scholar learned manners fit for royalty. She’s glad of the lessons now.”

“What does he say?” Barris asked Robert.

“Damned if I know,” Robert shrugged.

“The mother knows her son’s face, but he doesn’t know hers. Time lost and tales told and all is twisted with shame. But he has a kingly heart. He tried to help her.”

“Right then,” Robert said, looking off to the west. “Let’s go.”

Cole blinked at last and smiled. It was a wide smile, a hopeful smile.

“They were offered freedom,” he said. “They will seek Haven.”

“Seek Haven, is it?” Robert asked. “Good for them. Looks like we’ll have allies when we get to where we’re going,” he added this for Barris’ benefit.

“What allies?” Barris asked, as he wiped and sheathed his sword.

“I’ve no idea,” Robert replied. “But I’m going to go out on a limb here and say _not_ the templars.” He smiled at that thought.

“Come on then,” he told the spirit and the templar. “Let’s get going. We have a long ways yet to Haven.”

* * *

 _I miss Haven,_ Kate thought.

It was a strange thought, really. She hadn’t been to the pilgrim village in nearly a month. The time she _had_ spent in Haven hadn’t been exactly comfortable. She’d been unconscious, a prisoner, fighting demons, and making speeches. None of that had been pleasant. And yet, Kate also recalled how quiet the mountains had been on the climb up to the temple. She recalled the peace she had felt there, if only for a moment. She dearly wished she could find that kind of quiet and peace again.

Kate slipped out of the doors and into the Redcliffe courtyard, but that was no good. There was no executioner’s stone here, stained black with blood. There was no red lyrium growing in the cracks of the cobble stones. There was no pike on the gates with Cullen’s torn body upon it.

Kate swallowed hard. She felt she ought to offer some prayer of thanks to the Maker, rejoicing for her return to this untouched time. But instead, she felt cold and angry. That world in the future had been real, and a real Leliana and real Cullen and so many other real people had died. Even now, Kate thought she could smell smoke and the brimstone-scent of red lyrium upon her clothes. She still felt her hands shaking, felt her mind frozen and fractured by all those faces of death. So many people had died. They died because she’d left them without finishing her task. They’d died because she failed.

Kate continued on through the torch-lit courtyard, out through the gates and the portcullis, and onto the long bridge that led from the castle back to the village. Kate walked about halfway out, until the torches of Redcliffe were faint. There, she stopped and looked up.

The stars were out. There had been no stars in the Fade-filled future. There, the sky was sickly green at all hours. There, the Veil was shredded and torn. But here - Kate breathed in one great, deep breath - here, the Veil was solid and secure. The world was as it had been.

This didn’t seem real, Kate thought, numbly. It was like all this was happening to someone else - some other version of Kate. Some other Kate had managed to fight her way back to the present. Some other Kate had spoken with Ferelden royalty just now, used their Trevelyan-taught manners and charm to defuse the tension of the situation. And some other, more leader-like woman had turned to Grand Enchanter Fiona and graciously offered the woman freedom and an alliance with the Inquisition. Someone else _must_ have done it. For as it was, Kate - _this_ Kate - felt tired and timid. Present-Kate felt like she was inside of her own body, watching someone else speak from her mouth and move her arms. Present-Kate wore a mask of bravery, and didn’t dare take it off.

Present-Kate also had a lot of work to do. With that thought, Kate drew out her journal from her belt. Holding up her glowing mark for light, she read the words:

_Item one: return to past._

Well, Kate thought, she’d taken care of _that_. She drew out her stub of pencil and crossed it off the list. How strange, she thought, to write something in the future and take care of it in the past. It was entirely backward to the way lists were supposed to work.

“Herald?”

“Lady Trevelyan?”

“Kate!”

Kate didn’t quite register the voices at first. But when one shouted her name, she looked up at last. There were people with torches, moving about the battlements and in the courtyard. They were looking for her.

Of course they were looking for her, Kate thought. Rather, they were looking for the mark. And she must deliver it to them.

“Here!” she called back. She was surprised to find her voice was clear and calm. She started back for the gates, even as two figures with torches came striding out to meet her. As they neared, Kate faltered a step, then came to a stop.

It was Cullen. And Leliana.

Maker save her. The last she’d seen of these two, they were ruined corpses. Now, here they were, filled with life once again. Kate swiped at her eyes, torn by grief and gratitude alike. For as she watched them approach, she felt as if she were watching ghosts - or angelic spirits. Cullen and Leliana - and Cassandra and Solas, too - had all died to save her. Or they _would_ die to save her, given the need. It was a very strange thing, Kate mused, when she knew the measure of their courage and conviction better than they did. She knew they would never give up, never admit defeat. She knew that they would see the world restored to peace or die in the attempt. And as they drew near, Kate felt more awed than she had in the presence of the king and queen. This was true royalty.

“Maker’s breath, Kate! What were you _thinking_?”

The ferocity of Cullen’s words made Kate start, as if he’d just thrown cold water into her face.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked in reply. The words came out polite and distant, as they had with the king.

“You set the mages loose without oversight!” Cullen snapped, waving a hand back at the castle. “We’ll be swimming in abominations by week’s end.”

“Oh,” Kate said, softly. “That.”

“Yes, that,” Cullen said. “I can’t believe you forgot so quickly. _They_ have not forgotten. Fiona was dancing a little jig as we walked out the door.”

“I don’t think Fiona would ever dance a jig, commander,” Leliana said easily. “The allamonde, maybe. A waltz if you gave her some wine.”

Cullen huffed, folding his arms over his chest. He looked as annoyed, Kate thought. She could understand that. But she wasn’t about to apologize for her decision. She knew what happened in a future where she failed. Cullen did not.

“We needed the mages,” Kate said, simply. Cullen snorted and shook his head.

“She’s right, Cullen,” Leliana said. Her voice was not soothing, but smug. “Even better, mages are now so desperate to please us, they won’t dare step a foot out of line.”

“It’s not the mages I’m worried about,” Cullen scowled. “It’s the demons. Did you not even _think_ to consult us before offering Fiona such a deal?” He glared at Kate once again.

“I did,” Kate replied, surprised again that her tone was so even. “Briefly. But I didn’t have time to set up a war-bale and schedule a meeting.”

Leliana chuckled. “This isn’t a joke,” Cullen frowned at her.

“No,” Kate agreed, solemnly. “No, it’s not.”

Her seriousness seemed to disturb Cullen, for he frowned at her. Evidently, he’d expected more argument than this. Kate supposed she ought to explain everything to him, but found she didn’t have the strength. After all that had happened this night - in future nights - she scarcely had the strength to stand.

“You’ll be happy to know,” Leliana cut in, “That I attempted to smooth things over with Alistair just now. And don’t worry, Cullen. He has never stayed angry for long. In fact, I’ve only seen him really angry once, and that was… Well, it was worse than this. By the time he’s back to Denerim, he’ll calm down and offer us a show of support. You’ll see.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Upsetting the king of Ferelden,” he muttered. “There’s another thing we can add to our lengthy list of mistakes.”

“You’re just upset because Alistair didn’t even remember you,” Leliana told Cullen.

“I didn’t expect him to,” Cullen returned. “He’s three years older than me and he was the templar class clown to boot. He spent more of his time in detention than he ever did at his studies.”

“And you probably spent all of your free time alone in the library,” Leliana teased.

Cullen did not deny it. Instead he stiffened, and held his torch a little higher.

“So what now?” he demanded of Kate.

“We take the mark back to Haven,” she replied. “Take me back to Haven, that is. And I try to fix…everything.”

Cullen’s brows drew together. He opened his mouth, but seemed to hesitate on what to say.

“Something happened in there,” he said at last. “There was a blast and a light from the windows. Then we heard sounds of battle. And Dorian said something about experimental magic? They didn’t try blood magic on you, did they?”

Kate gave a desperate sort of laugh. No, it had not been blood magic, exactly, but something far worse. Yet as Cullen’s eyes searched Kate’s face, the torchlight flickered over his features. For the briefest moment, the shadows darkened, and Kate no longer saw Cullen there. She saw a skeleton with a pathetic crown of golden curls, still clinging to the rotting skin. When she looked at Leliana, she saw a ghoulish face, staring at her from under a blood-stained hood.

Kate squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away. But she did not cry. Instead, she just felt empty.

“Kate?” she heard Cullen say.

“No,” she forced herself to answer. “Not blood magic.”

Kate took a breath, then another and another. She opened her eyes and found herself looking out into the night. The lights of Redcliffe village glowed in the distance.

“Please don’t ask me what happened,” she said. Her voice was little more than a whisper. Kate cleared her throat and tried again.

“I’ll write it down,” she said. “I’ll submit a proper report for the Inquisition’s records and you may read it. But please don’t ask me to speak of it aloud. I don’t think I could.”

She looked up at them, and found Cullen and Leliana both gazing at her with concern. She’d seen a similar expression on Cullen after they had defeated Widris in the mire. He looked ready to reach for her again, but Kate prayed he wouldn’t. If he did, she would probably break down sobbing.

It was strange, however, to see such kindness from Leliana. Until now, Kate had thought the Nightingale capable of nothing but hard decisions and harder feelings. Now, they woman’s eyes were as gentle as her voice.

“We can talk about it later,” Leliana said, reaching out and patting Kate on the arm.

“We really ought to discuss things now. Like how we’re going to get the mages up to Haven,” Cullen said, though he sounded reluctant to bring up such concerns. “And where we’re going to put them all. And how we’ll protect them from demons. The logistics alone…” He trailed off into a mutter and pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose.

“Nevermind,” he muttered, half to himself. “I’ll deal with it.”

It suddenly occurred to Kate that she wasn’t the only one who felt tired and split in two. Cullen looked exhausted as well. That thought anchored her to the present like nothing else could. She had lost the Cullen and Leliana of the future, but these two people were here with her now. And Kate meant to look after them as best she could.

“You haven’t slept, have you?” Kate asked them.

“Not yet,” Leliana admitted.

“No,” Cullen said, sighing. “When would we have?”

“Then you should get some rest,” Kate told them. “Get some rest, and we’ll work this out in the morning.”

“The soldiers…” Cullen began.

“Aren’t going to benefit from a commander who’s too tired to make good decisions,” Kate warned him. The image flashed through her mind of rotten fur and torn clothes, and she pushed it aside. She focused instead on the live, haggard face before her. On an impulse, Kate reached out and lightly touched Cullen’s arm.

Kate regretted the intimacy at once. For even though she was wearing gloves and he was wearing metal braces, she felt a shock course through her. He was alive, this Cullen - alive and well and it seemed wrong to reach for him when she’d lost another man just like him.

Kate dropped her hand, utterly flustered, and mumbled: “Just get some rest. You need it. We all need it.”

She turned to walk away, keen to get some distance between herself and the uncomfortable feelings that were fluttering around inside her.

“And what will you be doing?” Leliana called after her.

“I,” Kate answered over her shoulder, “will be making more lists.”


	35. Letters from Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is reading all the mails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a letters chapter. As such, **the formatting is much, much, MUCH better over at[SageFic.com](http://sagefic.com/daughters-of-andraste/part-1-haven/35-letters-from-redcliffe/). ** (Really, it is. Thank you to bladwarden, my hubby, for making that site.) 
> 
> Really, read it over at sagefic. But feel free to come back to comment. :)

_22nd Harvestmere, ~~9:42~~ 9:41 Dragon_

Returned to Haven with Leliana and her scouts. Wrote my report on Redcliffe (future Redcliffe, that is). Left it on war table. Not my best writing, but it’s only for the officers, so that’s okay.

Headed up to breach with Solas to set wards, prepare for mages to join us. Iron Bull insisted on accompanying us so that I can continue training in the mornings. Sometimes wonder if he enjoys watching other people sweat. We’re sharing a tent at the forward camp, as far from red lyrium as we can get. Still smells like the future here.

Left word in Haven that I’m planning to try and close the breach at week’s end. Ought to be a good Satinalia present for everyone, right? Soon as I get this thing closed, I’m headed off to find Robert.

Maker, please let this week go smoothly.

 

* * *

 

To whom it may concern (namely, Ambassador Montilyet, undersecretary to the Inquisition):

I am Ambrosius, First Enchanter of the Newly Refurbished Circle of Starkhaven.

No doubt, you have read my series of monographs upon the magical casting of seismic tremors and their use in non-combat situations. In case you have not, allow me to assure you that I am a Very Important Person in my Circle and in the Mage Hierarchy as a whole. Not that you will be able to discern this from the way my fellow mages go on. Many of these rebels have gotten exceedingly lax in recognizing rank. Some of them have taken to calling one another ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ and even ‘comrade.’ Most plebeian. I am a First Enchanter and demand to be treated as such.

To that end, I am submitting a list of my requirements for accommodation and diet. I trust everything will be in order when I arrive.

Yours cordially,

Ambrosius Flavius Grist

First Enchanter of Newly Refurbished Starkhaven

Order of Earthquakers, Founder and Grandmaster

* * *

 

My Lords and Ladies of the Inquisition:

On behalf of all the free mages of Southern Thedas, I thank you again for your most gracious offer of alliance. As Grand Enchanter, I speak for _all_ mages when I say that we are most deeply indebted to you.

~~I didn’t send Ambrose, he just headed off with the others~~

~~Ambrose is a idiot, and does not speak for~~

I have sent a contingent of my best and most talented mages to Haven. ~~It has come to my attention that one of them is a fool~~ Some of them may appear a trifle ~~troublesome~~ less thankful than they ought to be. Please allow me to assure you that we mages are quite grateful to be working with the Inquisition. I hope you will ~~ignore that idiot~~ make allowances for exhaustion and low spirits. Most of us have lived on the run for months, if not years. We appreciate whatever provisions you can provide, and will endeavor to aid you in securing more resources in the coming days.

To that end, I am sending my assistant, Ella, along with the mage contingent. She can speak for me. ~~Not Ambrose, don’t listen to him.~~ I will remain at the Crossroads for now, preparing the slowest and sickest among us for the journey.

I thank you again for your trust, and for this opportunity to freely prove ourselves - both to the Inquisition, and to the world.

I remain your faithful friend and staunch ally,

Grand Enchanter Fiona

* * *

 

And so it begins.

Mages arrived this morning. Someone directed them to check in with me instead of Mother Giselle. Turns out Fiona’s assistant, Ella, is a Kirkwall escapee. She nearly fainted when she recognized me and Rylen. We did _try_ to assure her she was safe here, but she just started stammering.

For now, the mages are just milling about the village, looking a bit lost. I’d like to put them to work, if you don’t mind. Healing, requisitions, that sort of thing. Not like I can just hand these mages a sword and have them do drills like the rest of the recruits.

I know that ~~Kate~~ Trevelyan is planning to bring some mages up the breach eventually, but there’s no way I’m sending anyone up the mountain until I get word that those wards are in place. Don’t want a repeat of what happened two months ago.

Maker, has it really been that long?

– Cullen

 

It has.

Two months past and very few of our questions answered. But, Maker willing, we’ll seal the breach soon enough. Then we can devote our efforts to finding the ones who did this.

And so long as we’re waiting on answers, why _can’t_ you hand some of those mages a sword, commander? It would give them something to do, after all. And you and I both know mages who became excellent fighters. The Charger’s Lieutenant - Krem? He offered to train the mages to fight as a unit. Take him up on that offer. It’s free help, after all.

Actually, it’s not free help. The Chargers cost a premium. Might as well get our money’s worth out of them.

– Leliana

 

Krem wants to train the mages?

Well, it’s not my first choice, I must say. But it’s better than having them standing about, staring at me and my officers. Only Morris remains oblivious to the tension in the barracks.

Sure, fine. Send Krem my way.

Oh, and has anyone seen ~~Kate’s~~ Trevelyan’s report on Redcliffe? I’d like to read it.

~~I can’t stop worrying about~~ I’d like to know what happened there.

– Cullen

 

I have Katerina’s report and I just finished reading it. It is very bad.

The things she describes are very bad I mean. The report is well written which is no surprise to me. It is very long too.

After reading that report I do not at all approve of bringing the mages under our banner without any consequences for their foolish actions.

Also, I volunteer to find Robert Trevelyan. I will track him down at once.

– Cassandra

 

No need for that, Cassandra. Leliana already sent scouts out looking for the man. Besides, we need you here. Your seeker abilities maybe needed when dealing with the mages. (Let us pray they are not, but one can never be too careful.)

I absolutely agree with you about allying with the mages, but it’s done and we must make the best of it.

Can I have that report now that you’re finished with it?

– Cullen

 

I still think I should go looking for him. Robert that is. I know what he looks like and Leliana’s scouts do not.

I will wait until the breach is sealed and then take a search party to look for him. Katerina may wish to come with me.

Also I gave the report to Leliana and she has it now.

– Cassandra

 

Sister Nightingale,

I, Ambrosius Flavius Grist, First Enchanter of the Newly Refurbished Circle of Starkhaven. (We maybe have been a small Circle, but we were, I assure you, _very_ prestigious.)

I traveled from Redcliffe as soon as I was able, the better to escape my more undeserving brethren. Prior to my arrival, I submitted my list of requirements to your so-called ‘Ambassador’. Imagine my surprise, then, to find that this ‘Josephine’ had not seen to a single one of my needs! Instead, she informed me that she had been ‘too busy’ dealing with the other mages. As if _they_ had such specific requirements as myself. They are mere mages, where _I_ am a First Enchanter.

I have, by some gross oversight, been assigned quarters in a tent - a tent! I ask you. Moreover, this tent is pitched in the _snow_ on the edge of a frozen _lake_. Further, I have been asked to _share_ this tent with at least four other mages, one of whom snores, and one of whom frequently breaks wind in his sleep.

This is not to be borne. I am not used to such treatment, and I’m sure our Tevinter Allies would not have treated us thus. If you do not see to the needs of the best of the mages, then the best of the mages will not see to _your_ needs when push comes to shove.

I trust you understand my meaning?

I have attached my list of requirements. This time, I expect them to be met.

Your cordially,

Ambrosius Flavius Grist

First Enchanter of Newly Refurbished Starkhaven

Order of Earthquakers, Founder and Grandmaster

 

Grist -

(aka, ‘Gristle the Dogbone’, aka ‘Grubby the Smallweed’, aka ‘Bambry the Blister’, aka Ambry Grist of the Tantervale Coterie)

Do not speak ill of Josie if you value your life. I know everything about you and could make you disappear before sundown.

Yours cordially,

The Nightingale

 

Leliana,

What did you say to that elf? I was going to tell him he could share lodging with Chancellor Roderick, but he ran off the moment he laid eyes on me.

Also, do you suppose we could get Lady Trevelyan to come down the mountain for an afternoon? The mages keep telling me that they would like to meet her.

– Josephine

 

That’s an understatement.

Every time they think they’ve spotted ~~Kate~~ Trevelyan, they stop their training to go off and speak to her. They keep accosting any red-headed woman they see. Flissa loves the extra attention, but it is rather disruptive to our schedule.

Also, Leliana, can I have that report now that you’re done with it?

– Cullen

 

I passed the report on to Josephine. It was…very interesting. Enlightening, even.

It explains why Kate spent all her time on the return journey speaking to me. We have spoken before, but she was always very reserved. Now she wanted to know about Justinia and how I came to be here and that sort of thing. We had a very pleasant talk. I suppose my actions in the future won her over.

What a strange thought.

Although, she _did_ take issue with my handling of one of the scouts. Soft heart, that one. No wonder she was so upset by what she saw in Redcliffe.

– Leliana

 

And what _did_ she see, exactly? Josephine, are you done with that report yet?

– Cullen

 

Maker’s mercy. This report!

I don’t know what to say. Leliana, you said this was interesting. This is not interesting. It’s awful!

(It’s also sort of like reading a novel. One of those riveting Antivan Gothics that one simply cannot put down. I rather liked it, excepting for the part where it’s not fiction.)

– Josephine

 

You’re right. It is like an Antivan Gothic. I suppose that means I got to play the role of the doomed hero. And yet, I got to live again after. Quite the bargain.

– Leliana

 

Well, yes, you are portrayed most gallantly, but the whole affair is still monstrous.

I thought you said I didn’t miss much by staying in Haven. I missed _everything!_ And if this is true…

Well, of course it’s true. I trust that our Herald wouldn’t lie. Still, there’s no way we can allow this report to go public. The general populous would assume the Herald was insane. Or under the influence of Tevinter magic.

Or both.

– Josephine.

 

The report, if you please?

And why would we make our reports public? That’s no one’s business but the Inquisition’s.

– Cullen

 

Certain documents have been ‘leaked’ to the Chantry, commander. If we didn’t throw them a bone now and again, they’d go after the flank. At least this way, we get to determine what is seen and what is hidden.

But yes, I quite agree, let’s keep the Herald’s report to ourselves.

– Leliana

 

I should say so! The things Trevelyan saw - they are horrifying! You were blighted, Leliana! And Cullen! On a pike!

I thank the Maker she didn’t see _me_ in the future.

Come to think of it, where was I, anyhow?

– Josephine

 

What’s this about me on a pike? What are you talking about? Can I have this report already?

– Cullen

 

Ah, I figured it out. _I_ would have been in Haven, desperately sending for allies and gathering what resources I could.

At least, I think that is what I would have done.

I suppose I should discreetly send warning to our contacts in Val Royeaux to keep an eye on the empress? I would not mention any details, of course. Just a general ‘be safe’ as it were?

– Josephine

 

It’s already been done. Reports leaked to the Orlesian spies and our own scouts in place around the palaces.

– Leliana

 

Bravo, well done on reconnaissance and will someone PLEASE send me that report?

– Cullen

 

Oh, I’m so sorry, Cullen. I forgot you wanted it and allowed Vivienne to borrow it. I’ll ask her to send it along to you when she’s done.

– Josephine

 

You gave the report to _Vivienne_? What, now she’s reading our official reports, too? Maker’s breath. I thought you said we’d keep this to ourselves.

– Cullen

 

Well, Vivienne _is_ with the Inquisition. And she’s a mage besides. Lady Trevelyan wouldn’t mind, I’m sure.

– Josephine.

 

First Enchanter Vivienne,

Will you send that report to me as soon as you’re done with it?

Thank you.

– Cullen

 

Dearest Commander,

I regret to inform you that I have passed Lady Trevelyan’s report on to Ser Lysette, a friend of our Herald’s, as I understand. So good of our Herald to have templar allies from her Circle, I must say. Speaks well of her.

And _speaking_ of templars, I have a thought for you:

I would _highly_ advise that you train some of the rank and file to be ready to deal with magical _incidents_. You know as well as I that such incident _will_ be forthcoming. Just as fire has a tendency to spark out of control, so too can unchecked magic. We must be prepared.

Consider it, darling.

– Vivienne

 

Ms. Vivienne,

Got your recommendation and I’ll pass it on to the commander. He’s drilling recruits right now.

Don’t know if he’ll go for it without checking with the others though. He knows this isn’t his decision to make on his own, ma’am. Nor is it yours.

Meaning that with all due respect, ma’am.

– Capt. Rylen

 

I heard Madame Vivienne’s proposal, and would advise you all that we not harm an alliance so frail and newly formed. Mistrustful attitudes so early on can only turn the minds of our soldiers against the mages and their offered help. I would suggest the mages guard themselves. For who, upon gaining independence, would place themselves under a spirit’s thrall? Blood magic is the refuge of the trapped, not of the free body and hopeful mind.

I will assume that note came from Solas. Though _how_ he heard of my suggestion when he is camping out under the breach, I’m sure I don’t know. Why he sent a raven with his _own_ opinion and did not bother to speak to the Herald for hers, well, this also baffles me. But then, there is no accounting for the behavior of apostates.

I assume the elf’s naivety will _not_ sway such an important decision. This will be left to the officers, of course.

And consider: we do not need to set into place so _formal_ a solution as the templars. We do not even require a _visible_ solution. We simply ought to have a plan in place for dealing with the danger.

– Vivienne

 

Yes we need trained soldiers to deal with any problems with the mages. But the soldiers should not operate in secret and they should not take lyrium. It is expensive and bad for the health. Cullen would agree I’m sure.

– Cassandra

 

Wait, what are we doing?

I have a lyrium deal in the works. But I was led to believe that this lyrium would used by the mages when they go to close the breach. I didn’t realize it would be given to our own soldiers for the purpose of creating a new secret branch of templars.

You do realize that such a thing could undermine our alliance with the mages? It would also make us look like tyrants and hypocrites to the world at large.

– Josephine

 

Hang the world at large. We need to close the breach not worry about politics.

But I was not saying we should give the lyrium to our soldiers. I was saying the exact opposite.

– Cassandra

 

Forming a new division of templars will only raise problems. My scouts are more than capable of keeping an eye on our own - mages and non-mages alike.

– Leliana

 

It was just a _suggestion_ darlings. I defer to your authority of course.

I _only_ mentioned it, because capable though they may be, scouts are little good against abominations and blood mages in a toe-to-toe fight. And for all her skills, Cassandra alone is not enough to handle the entirety of Fiona’s malcontents. We need a plan.

Not _all_ mages are lovely people, dears. Do be aware of that.

– Vivienne

 

To whom it may concern (namely, the Infamous Former Knight-Captain of Notorious Kirkwall):

When my needs were ignored upon my arrival, I bore the slight with dignity. When my request for consideration was met with a hostile threat, I remained calm. But it has come to my attention that you are planning to form a SECRET TEMPLAR DEATH SQUAD.

I will remain silent no longer.

I can only assume this was YOUR idea, commander. I have informed all the mages - indeed, all of HAVEN that you are trying to scuttle our alliance. I must say, I am APPALLED. But I am also not surprised. What can one expect from CHANTRY LACKEYS, after all?

Also, I cannot drink ram’s milk. I am allergic. I demand that you give me a ration of wine with my dinner instead.

Yours cordially,

Ambrosius Flavius Grist

First Enchanter of Newly Refurbished Starkhaven

Order of Earthquakers, Founder and Grandmaster

 

Cullen,

Will you _please_ assure the mages that you have no intention of making a ‘templar death squad’? At least a dozen people have been in my office today to complain about it. They do not seem to believe me when I tell them that we would never do such a thing. (And we wouldn’t, would we?)

– Josephine

 

Okay, I know this is none of my business. And I know I’m not a mage or a templar or a seeker or a former templar or former seeker.

But you people aren’t _honestly_ putting secret templar death squads in the ranks, are you? I mean, it sounds like a rumor, but hey, most of Kirkwall sounded like a rumor.

Anyway, that’s what they’re saying down here in the pub. And if it’s true, well, hell. You shouldn’t need me to tell you that this is bullshit. But this is bullshit.

These mages deserve a fair shake. Leave ‘em alone, I say. You people did enough to them.

– Varric

 

And they did quite enough to your _city_ , I dare say.

Please bear in mind, Varric dear, watching the mages would be for their own good. The breach is a danger to _all_ mages. This is as much a precaution for the mages as anyone - and for any future allies.

After all, who would want to join with us if we so carelessly disregard the safety of our own?

– Vivienne

 

Rylen:

Next time something this stupid comes by my desk, interrupt the morning drills so I can nip it in the bud.

To the rest of you:

First, please note that the use of the mail system is for _officers only_. Varric, Vivienne, will you kindly desist from intercepting messengers as they are on their way through camp?

Secondly, I have not now nor will I ever form a “secret templar death squad.” If I _do_ take Vivienne up on her suggestion (which is not a bad one, mind you), I will train up such soldiers quite publicly. Half the efficacy of the templars was their visibility, after all.

– Cullen

 

Ah, that _might_ not be the best example, Curly. Visible templars were what got us into this mess.

– Varric

 

It _is_ a rather poor example, ser, given current circumstances.

But yes, noted ser. All ‘stupid’ items will now be forwarded to you directly, ser.

– Capt. Rylen

 

Don’t get smart with me Rylen, you know what I meant.

– Cullen

 

Darlings, Fiona _expects_ to be watched. And if she does not, then she’s a fool. Train the soldiers and have done with it.

– Vivienne

P.S. I do not mean to intrude upon the mail system, commander. But on such important matters as this, I cannot, in good conscience, sit silent. We _must_ do something about the mages.

 

I must object. I will not see our allies treated like criminals.

– Leliana

 

Well, Nightingale, dear. They _did_ ally with an enemy foreign power, evict a nobleman from his castle, plan to turn themselves over into the hands of cultists, _and_ conspire to remove our Herald from time itself.

Just stating facts, dear.

– Vivienne

 

I still say you’re making a huge mistake if you think to create a second set of templars out of Inquisition ranks.

– Leliana

 

They would not _be_ templars. They would be Inquisition soldiers, tasked with protecting –

Blast it, we do not need to argue this by letter. Someone get ~~Kate’s~~ Trevelyan’s opinion on the matter. If the Herald agrees to it, the mages must as well. If she doesn’t…

Well, we’ll deal with that as it comes.

– Cullen

 

~~Maker’s breath, I’m gone for few days and you all~~

~~Sorry, but Bull had me running halfway up a mountain and camping there overnight~~

~~I would have written sooner, but~~

I see we have a discussion going about how to prevent magical incidents with our mage allies.

All of you raise valid points and concerns. My proposal is this:

We do not want to insult or antagonize our allies. And I for one don’t want to see a second reign of templars rise from our ranks. (No offense meant to present or former templars in saying so.)

At the same time, it would be foolish not to prepare for ‘magical incidents,’ as Vivienne so aptly calls them. There is no use in ignoring threats. We must prepare for them.

So why not ask the mages for help?

Consider: these anti-magic units (AMUs? Dispel Squads? We can come up with a name later.) These units would require agents who can detect and dispel magic. Unless we plan on giving our soldiers lyrium to develop those abilities (and that is a terrible idea, in my opinion), we have no reliable way of dispelling magic _except_ to use mages.

Further, consider that most of the rebel mages (and Inquisition mages, come to that) have faced down blood mages and demons and abominations (and templars and bandits and more). They are already veterans, and many of them are capable of fighting, healing themselves, casting protective barriers, and so on.

I would suggest then, that each of these AMUs (or Dispel Squads. Or whatever) be comprised of at least three mages, either from among our allies or Inquisition forces. Add to that five to seven non-mages (soldiers) to make up the bulk of the squad - the armored backbone, as it were. These teams would then be trained to work together, using both magic and traditional combat skills to deal with any magic-related dangers. In order to foster interest, maybe we could offer an incentive to the people who join these squads? Not extra pay, perhaps, but better rations?

Ask around the camp for volunteers, or send word to Fiona in Redcliffe and ask her for names. Above all, make it clear to _everyone_ that this is merely a safety precaution. We might even consider rotating people through these teams and back out into the field, so that the groups don’t become overly specialized.

I trust that will be a fair compromise?

Oh, and we’re still on track to close the breach by Satinalia Eve, in case you were wondering. ~~I hope it works, anyhow.~~

~~This ought to work~~

Thank you all for your patience and efforts this past week. This hasn’t been easy, but we’re nearly there.

– Kate

 

The Herald speaks at last.

And while it wasn’t the solution I was hoping for, I suppose it will do. Ought to please the mages no end.

No need to trouble Fiona, however. I can give you a list of suitable candidates.

– Vivienne

 

An inspired solution, Lady Trevelyan. Leliana and I were just speaking of how far you’ve come since we first met you. From prisoner to prophet - well, Herald of the Prophet, anyhow. And soon, you may even…

Well, enough of that. It’s a good idea.

Oh, and would you consider coming on down the hill to address the mages? Maybe present your proposal to them in person? They are getting a bit…restless.

I’m not suggesting anything formal, of course. Just a little meet-and-greet to calm them down, orient them as it were. I can make arrangements for refreshments. I suppose ram’s milk will have to do in place of wine.

– Josephine

 

Now you did it, Jose. Boss freaked out when she saw your letter by raven. Left Solas to finish up with the wards. Now she’s off to her tent early to write up what she’s gonna say to the mages. Think she’s got five drafts now.

Oh, and I’m supposed to tell you that we’ll be on our way in the morning. Should be down at Haven around noon. We’ll talk to the mages and then we’ll take some of ‘em back up the hill with us after dinner. Boss is planning to form a Breach-Busting Brigade outta anyone who isn’t training with Krem de la Krem or Cullen. Or maybe she’ll borrow the good ones and give ‘em back later. Either way, we’re gonna need some more tents.

So, lot of travel planned for tomorrow. Boss thinks that’s gonna get her off the hook for the morning workout. Heh. Yeah, that’s so not going to happen. We’ll just workout on the way. I’m thinking we’ll do ten push ups every time we pass one of Red’s creepy ravens. That ought to get in a solid hundred. Maybe more.

See ya tomorrow. Oh, and got any cakes for the cocktail hour? I do like cakes. Pinks ones, if you have ‘em.

Thanks.

– Bull

 

To whom it may concern (namely, the formerly Dalish elf, Enchantress Colleen Lavellen, Underlibrarian of the Ostwick Circle and personal assistant to the Herald of Andraste):

I am Ambrosius Flavius Grist, First Enchanter of the Newly Refurbished Starkhaven Circle.

As a fellow elven mage, I am sure you are aware of how _poorly_ our kind is treated outside of the Circle. To the uninitiated, we are often mistaken for common rabble. Most people remain unaware that within the hallowed halls of magic, we elves command just as much power and respect as any human.

Keeping proper _rank_ in mind, I hereby submit my request that you reserve a seat for me at the FRONT of the crowd when the Herald speaks tomorrow. Also, I should like to speak to her first, before all the other mages descend upon her. A quarter hour ought to suffice.

Yours cordially,

Ambrosius Flavius Grist

First Enchanter of Newly Refurbished Starkhaven

Order of Earthquakers, Founder and Grandmaster

 

Hey Rosy,

Sure, I remember you. You wrote to me once, asking to borrow some books from the Ostwick library. You never returned them neither.

So you’re a First Enchanter now, are you? Well, that’s one way to look at it. How many of you mages were there what got sent to Starkhaven to rebuild after that fire? Twenty of you? Thirty? And here I thought you’d all died in the fighting or at the Conclave. Guess it’s easy to claim the title of ‘First Enchanter’ when your Circle has a population of _one_.

And the Earthquakers, is it? You think I’m stupid? It’s the late Enchanter Leorah what founded that Order. And if you’re a Grandmaster, then I’m a nug. Now that I recall it, you’re the gobshite what tried to take credit for all of Leorah’s papers, too. Tried to pass off her petrification studies as your own.

So you want to talk to Kate, do you? Well suck balls, you plagiarizing feck-pony. And find your own place to sit. I’d suggest somewhere with plenty of room for that great pole up your arse.

Oh, and some friendly advice: there’s a lot of mages around here who are sick of your posturing and your whining. You keep it up and someone’s going to magic you off a cliff. Lots of cliffs around here, too.

– Coll

(just Coll)

 

Alright, everything is in order for Lady Trevelyan’s arrival. (I hope.)

We’ll meet in the Chantry at noon. The itinerary is posted on the door of the Chantry. I did the best I could with refreshments at short notice. (It’s mostly rations, but Flissa did find some sugar in the cellar and baked cookies at short notice. Sera spent the whole time making gagging noises, for reasons unknown.)

I must confess, I am feeling a bit fluttery and nervous. It is rather like hosting a party - the first party I’ve seen in ages. Exciting, I must say.

Oh, and has anyone seen that First Enchanter? Ambrose? Ambrosia? I did try to save a seat for him, but he seems to have run off again. Leliana, you aren’t threatening him again, are you?

– Josephine

 

I didn’t say a thing.

Good job on the hors d’oeuvres, Josephine. I tried one and couldn’t even tell that was druffalo sausage.

– Leliana

 

Blast it all, I can’t be there at noon. Rylen and I need to head down to the Pilgrim’s Landing to inspect a shipment of supplies. For whatever reason, the merchant won’t sign it over to anyone but me.

Tell ~~Kate~~ Trevelyan that I have several reports for her, also a review of the joint mage/soldier troops (Anti-Magic Units, AMUs, or whatever we were going to call them.) I’m leaving a list for her of the mages who have volunteered to help close the breach. (Vivienne went over it with a red pencil and added notes on who actually might be best suited to do so. Useful insight there.)

Also, I would very much like to speak to her about Redcliffe. It seems Lt. Lysette gave the report to Coll, and I’ve been unable to track Coll down.

If anyone sees the healer, please tell her to put that report on my desk as soon as possible.

– Cullen

 

Hey Coll,

Commander Cullen wants those papers - the ones the Herald wrote about the scary future in Redcliffe Castle.

I thought that was a story, not a report. You’re telling me that’s real?

Come to think of it, can I have it before you give it to the commander? I’d like to read it again.

– Adan

 

No can do. Gave the thing to Krem. And I don’t have time to track it down. I’m too busy delousing refugees for Kate’s party.

Mythal’s ass, you’d assume that mages would know this spell. But I guess shems don’t think of these things.

– Coll

 

Coll -

I gave the report to Stitches. Didn’t realize the commander wanted it.

I’ll see if I can’t track it down.

– Krem

 

I gave it to Rocky.

Sorry, don’t have time to go looking for it. I want to go hear the Herald address the mages.

And yeah, I know I’m not a mage. But this might be the only chance we get to meet the woman. I mean, if she doesn’t survive closing the breach…

Probably shouldn’t say that. Chief wouldn’t like it. I’ll see you at the Chantry.

– Stitches

 

Success!

Oh, Leliana! That went SO well!

Please excuse my enthusiasm. I’m sure you heard about the soiree from your scouts, but I just _have_ to write and tell someone. I’m just so _pleased_ everything worked out.

At first, I thought it would be a disaster. I certainly did not expect another thirty mages to show up out of the blue. And then everyone in _Haven_ arrived, too. It was a hundred and fifty people packed into that sanctuary, I’m absolutely certain. Poor Flissa and her cooks were frantic, trying to find anything at all to feed them.

In the end, however, it was _wonderful_. Everyone was so polite (and most of them had bathed, thank the Maker.) Even that Colleen was civil, though she did seem to be playing bodyguard to the Herald. I supposed she missed the sight of Iron Bull, lurking in the corner. Vivienne was getting into the swing of things, chatting with the mages and clerics alike. She is _so_ charming, I must say. And so gracious when she speaks to a person - makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room.

Now, true, I thought we _might_ have an incident when Dorian walked in. A Tevinter mage with all those Circle enchanters! But Kate just waved him over and asked him how he was enjoying the weather and he said something sarcastic and yet droll and…

Oh, it was all so lovely.

Now Kate and about thirty of the mages are all off to the breach to ‘practice’ closing it. (How they will practice, I have no idea, but it seems Solas has a plan.) The rest of the mages will stay here - healers with Colleen, fighters with Krem and Cullen and…

Oh dear, that reminds me. The one thing I forgot to do was remind Kate that Cullen wanted to speak to her. She simply read through his lists and left. Well, I’m sure he can send any other reports by raven.

Ah, Leliana, I’m still smiling from it all. Mages and non-mages and elves and humans and dwarves and just… people! People, Leliana! Milling about - talking - _getting along_! They were forming _alliances_! Just as we wished to do from the start.

Please do excuse me, I just am so happy right now I could burst.

– Josephine

 

Josie,

Your joy bring me joy (and no small amount of amusement. I don’t find small-talk nearly as scintillating as you do, but if it makes you happy, that’s wonderful.)

I did get a report from my scouts (far less detailed than yours) and I, too, think it went very well.

By the way, I understand that you wrote down the whole of the Herald’s ‘impromptu’ speech to the mages. Can you send me the transcript, please?

– Leliana

 

Oh, yes. I have the transcript. Here is is:

* * *

_Lady Trevelyan’s speech to the Free Mage Alliance, taken down by Josephine Montilyet, Haven Chantry, 26th of Harvestmere, 9:41 Dragon_

Greetings everyone.

Some of you are new allies of the Inquisition. Some of you have been with the Inquisition from the start, and some of you are natives to Haven, or refugees from surrounding lands.

And yet, we are all here - now, in this Chantry - because of magic. (A murmur runs through the crowd.)

Whether we were brought here because of the mage-templar war or because of the breach in the sky, we have come to this place because of magic. The war made many of us homeless. And the breach hanging over us is surely greatest danger to our world since the blights. (Rumbling in the crowd.)

So here we are. We are pilgrims and refugees and soldiers, all brought here because of magic. And yet, some among us can _cast_ magic. Some of us are mages. And because of that, we are feared more than anyone else. (More rumblings.)

Now, the argument has been made that mages ought to be free because there is nothing to fear in magic. I disagree. (Some coughs, sniffs, one ‘Hmpf.’) Please allow me to explain. I disagree for two reasons.

I disagree that there is nothing to fear in magic. The breach above us proves that magic is dangerous. Magic is a force as strong as fire or water or any other in nature. We cannot say that magic is not a threat. Those of us who study magic know this better than anyone. So we cannot discount the dangers of magic. (From the back: “Hear, hear!” - sounded like Vivienne) Er, yes. We also cannot ignore the very likely possibility that a mage or magical artifact - or both - was what caused the breach in the first place.

But there is a flaw in that argument as well. That argument suggests that mage freedom hinges on the relative danger or safety of magic. In other words, if magic is benign, mages should be free. If magic is dangerous, mages should be locked up. But that is very flawed logic, I find. Mage freedom does not depend upon the qualities of _magic_. It depends upon the qualities of person-hood. In other words, mages ought to be free for no other reason than that we are people. (Soft mutterings throughout the crowd.)

We mages are people. Some have denied it. Some have debated it. But we are, in fact, people, regardless of any other abilities we may posses. And as people, freedom and dignity is our natural state. And yet (said over louder mutterings) And _yet_ , magic is dangerous and magic is our burden to bear. What then, is the solution? (The crowd quiets and waits for Lady Trevelyan to turn the page.)

For centuries, the Chantry and the templars stood as guardians over the mages. This was a solution of sorts (Annoyed rumblings. One loud snort.) But I propose a new way. We mages know the dangers of magic better than anyone. So let us take responsibility for our _own_ guardianship. (Murmuring. Another snort. Several mages nod.)

This does not (Quite a lot more murmuring.) - now, this does _not_ mean that mages should use magic recklessly. Nor does this mean that we should seek power for our own gain, or seek to visit revenge upon the templars or anything like that. Instead, we ought to embrace what is _best_ in magic. We should embracing the learning and the beauty and the creativity of magic. And _we_ should stand as guardians against the dangers of the darker elements of the fade. (Even more murmuring now.)

Fellow mages, let us rewrite the narrative we have been given. Our magic is not a curse, but a sacred calling - like that of the Wardens or of the holy clerics. Andraste herself said that magic was to serve man. But how are we serving if we are locked away in towers? We mages are not doomed prisoners, but appointed warriors, called by the Maker himself to guard against our own powers and the powers of magic in the world. (More murmurs, many smiles from the mages, an outraged guffaw from from Chancellor Roderick.)

So let this be our new story: one of self-restraint and hope and freedom. Let this change begin with the alliance between the mages and the Inquisition. And let us put it into action at the breach.

Above us, on that summit, is a magical anomaly unlike anything I have ever seen. It will take our best reasoning, study, and training to get it shut. This mark on my hand is the key, but I need your help. This afternoon, I will ask those of you who are ready to accompany me…

* * *

Did you want the rest of this, Leliana? Lady Trevelyan just went into details about the wards and such. Then there were a lot of questions about whether she was truly touched by Andraste (she was suitably humble and yet vague, as I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear.) Then the mages got into a long-winded discussion about the resonance of red lyrium vs. the blue kind and it’s effect upon the breach. I got a bit confused by the technicalities of it all. Anyhow, that’s the bulk of it.

Will that do?

– Josephine

 

That’s perfect, Josie. Just leave everything to me.

– Leliana

 

What do you mean, leave it to you?

Leliana, I hope you do not do anything rash. You do realize that much of what the Herald said is borderline heresy, don’t you? It’s fine for a friendly speech to fellow mages and allies, but I wouldn’t want this spreading too far.

Oh dear. I’m going to regret sending you that transcript, aren’t I?

– Josephine

 

KATE!

Mythal love you lass. That was pure dead _brilliant_!

Alright, I know I told you this already, but I’m going to send you a raven just to say it again (also to send you a couple extra elfroot potions. I’ve found the ravens can carry exactly two before getting overloaded):

_Everyone_ is talking about your speech. Some of the soldiers said it ‘came off a bit strong’ and some said it was ‘food for thought.’ But the mages just _loved_ it. They loved _you_. ‘Course, that’s not too surprising, seeing as how you’re marked by their goddess and their only remaining chance of not being hunted down or locked up. But _still_. You always surprise me with how you can put together words in a pinch. Not usually that helpful, your ramblings. But they sure are handy around here!

Oh, and speaking of getting handy, have you bedded Iron Bull yet? Bloke was saying he had three warm bodies in his tent with him last night, yet I’m getting the impression that you weren’t one of them. ‘Course, when Bull told me that, that Vint mage was standing by. Dorian got all red in the face and started coughing and sniffing like someone had taken a shite on his shoe. Think you might have some competition there, Kate-lass. Get on that big blue body fast if you don’t want the horns stolen out from under you.

Then again, fella strikes me as the on-top sort. Just a hunch.

Speakin’ of that, _still_ no luck with Krem. I’ve been decidedly _lethallin-an-ed_. Bugger.

Oh, and yer templar Cullen was tryin’ to find you. Seems you left camp just afore he showed up. Said something about your report on Redcliffe Castle? That’s not the same report that Bull took with him, is it?

Hope you’re havin’ a nice time at the freezin’ cold summit with Bull and the Vint and that loony elf! Sure am glad it ain’t me up there. _I’m_ off to have a pint with Varric and Sera in a few. Have fun closing the breach and don’t blow yourself up with the mark. You do, and I’ll resurrect yer arse just to kill you again.

Ta!

– Coll

 

So, apparently, _everyone_ had a chance to talk to ~~Kate~~ Trevelyan, and yet no one mentioned to her that I have business with her? Of course not.

Instead, I come back to reports that in one afternoon, ~~Kate~~ Trevelyan recruited all the volunteers we needed for the Anti-Magic Units (this from Rylen), brought peace and love to all the world (this from Flissa), calmed down our mage allies with a display of admirable, if somewhat idealistic leadership (this from Vivienne), and also filled the Chantry with reprehensible heresy (this from Chancellor Roderick).

What I did _not_ come back to was a report of where I can locate ~~Kate’s~~ Trevelyan’s mission report. Apparently that thing is making the rounds about camp as if it were the latest copy of one of Varric’s books.

– Cullen

 

Curly, if one of my books got passed around like this report has been, I’d be thrilled.

I draw the line at time-travel, though. That narrative device is just asking for trouble - and plot holes. But Duchess did a good job with it. She wrote it all short and methodical like - a bare-bones view of what she saw. Chilling, really. Made it a lot scarier than involved descriptions would have done. I think I might use that technique sometime.

– Varric

 

Wait, _you_ read the report, Varric? Can you at least tell me what it says?

I would, of course, overlook your use of the mail system in that case.

– Cullen

 

Hey, I’m not the kind of tool who spoilers shit. Read it for yourself.

– Varric

 

I would _do_ so if I could get my hands on the blasted thing. I don’t suppose anyone is willing to fetch it from the top of the mountain?

I thought not.

– Cullen

 

Josephine,

Thank you very much for saving me and Rylen some refreshments. We are feeling much better now that we’ve warmed up again and eaten something. I suppose I’ll catch up with ~~Kate~~ Trevelyan later.

Only a few days until we attempt to close the breach. ~~Maker help us.~~

– Cullen

 

Hey Seeker,

Saw you in the Chantry with your hand in the alms box. Stealing from the Maker is a sin, you know. If you’re that hard up for cash, I can spot you a loan. Or you could try to win it off of me or Sera at Wicked Grace this evening.

– Varric

 

I was _not_ trying to steal money. That Enchanter Ambrosius has taken to leaving notes in the alms box and on the offering plates. He does not listen to me when I tell him that the Chantry does not have a suggestion box.

He also does not listen to me when I tell him that I have no authority to change his sleeping arrangements. I told him to deal with it, but he does not listen.

Now he has taken to pinning his complaints onto my practice dummy.

I will pin _him_ onto my practice dummy if he does it again.

– Cassandra

 

I can arrange for him to disappear if you like.

– Leliana

 

Let’s not be barbaric, Leliana. The fellow only needs a listening ear.

– Josephine

 

He needs a kick in the pants, from what I hear. The other mages are ready to tear him apart.

– Varric

 

Give him to me. I’ll find a way to shut him up.

– Cullen

 

Well that’s suitably ominous. What have you got in mind, Curly?

– Varric

 

Not that it’s any business of _yours_ , Varric. But so long as all this is becoming public record, I was planning to send him with Sera to go ‘collect bees.’

I trust that wasn’t code, and that she really _does_ plan to collect bees in the Hinterlands. I think such a journey would be good for the fellow, don’t you think?

– Cullen

 

Yes.

– Leliana

 

Inspired.

– Josephine

 

Do it quickly. He came by today while I was practicing. I almost accidentally hit him in the head.

– Cassandra

 

You forgot the quotes around ‘accidentally,’ Seeker.

Also, better have him collect some wasps, too.

– Varric

 

Done.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting with Krem about the new mage/soldier units. They’re very inexperienced, I find. Still, they’re enthusiastic. Seems ~~Kate’s~~ Trevelyan’s speech inspired them.

– Cullen

 

~~Dear Cullen~~

~~Commander,~~

Cullen,

We had a slight set back today. There was a…possession.

We took care of it, don’t worry. Bull and Solas and I were on it straight away. All that combat training came in handy, fortunately.

Or unfortunately, I guess.

The worst part (aside from the wrecked wards) was that the abomination sort of ~~freaked out the Circle mages~~ damaged morale. A bit. Or maybe a lot.

Look, I don’t suppose you have an AMU ready? (Or a Dispelling Squad? What are we going to call them, anyhow?) We could use one. As soon as you can send it. Thanks.

– Kate

 

~~Maker’s breath, are you alright?~~

~~I’m glad you are unharmed~~

~~Kate-~~

Trevelyan -

We have only just formed the AMUs (or whatever we want to call them). The soldiers have no formal training at this time. However, field experience is often the best teacher. I suppose it will be a trial by fire. I’ll send you the group that seems ~~the least incompetent~~ the best at working together.

By the way, I _still_ have not gotten a chance to see your report on the Redcliffe mission. I understand that the Iron Bull has it now? If so, will you please send it to me? Or give me a summary, if that is convenient?

– Cullen

 

Thank you, Cullen. I look forward to meeting the dispelling team.

I don’t know what happened to the report. It seems to have wandered off again. I would prefer not to write it out again though, if you don’t mind. Once was more than enough. I’m sure you understand.

– Kate

 

Alright, Curly. I think I finally got a line on that report.

Coll gave the report to Krem who gave it to Stitches, who gave it to Rocky, who passed it around to all the Chargers. Then Grim gave it to Iron Bull who took it with him up to the breach, who gave it to Solas, who sent it back down the mountain with some elf. That elf gave it to another elf, who gave it to Flissa, who gave it to Blackwall who gave it to Adan (who had already read it, but wanted to read it again,) who gave it to Sera, who - I think - stuffed it into her pack and took it with her to the Hinterlands.

Good luck finding it now.

– Varric

 

PUBLIC NOTICE:

If anyone spots Trevelyan’s Mission Report on the Incidents at Redcliffe Castle, please deliver it to Commander Cullen at once.

That report is an official Inquisition document and as such, belongs to the officers.

Still no word on the report, ser.

Why don’t you just go ask that Tevinter mage about it? He was there, wasn’t he?

– Capt. Rylen

 

Thank you for the suggestion, Rylen. I’ll do that at once.

Also, nearly done with the assignments for the new recruits. We’ve got a mix of partial-magic, full-magic, and non-magic squads. You and Krem will take over their training when Cassandra and I head up to the breach.

– Cullen

 

You’re heading up to the breach? But I thought you’d be down here, ser.

But yes, of course Krem and I can handle it, ser.

– Capt. Rylen

 

Cassandra and I have agreed it will be best for us to be nearby when ~~Kate~~ Trevelyan attempts to close the breach. Backup, you understand.

– Cullen

 

Backup. Right, ser.

– Capt. Rylen

 

Dear Commander Cullen,

I understand that you were looking for me. Social visit, as it were? So sorry to miss you. I am up at the forward camp, training with Kate and Iron Bull under the roaring of the breach. Now true, I’m already in fantastic shape, and running around on a mountain top isn’t the best use of my abilities. Still, when the Iron Bull suggested it, I thought, ‘Why not?’ Kate could use a sparring partner, after all.

Actually, she could use a lifetime of training is what she could use. I gather Ostwick was a quiet, scholarly sort of place and it _shows_ , Maker have mercy. Whatever else dear Kate learned there, she it was _not_ melee training. The girl tried to hit me with her staff yesterday and ended up hitting herself in the nose. I’m still not sure quite how she did it. Neither was she, come to that.

She is also having a great deal of trouble with casting magic, the poor thing. She has a decent grasp of magical theory, and seems well-read, too. So I’m inclined to believe her claim that she ‘used to be much better with spells than this.’ It seems that mark is throwing off her magic, though neither Solas nor I can quite see _why_. Kate says it’s disrupting her ability to grasp Fade energy, but you’d think it would assist her in that endeavor, seeing as the thing is _linked_ to the fade. At any rate, it’s been a challenging few days up here, what with the abominations and all. Still, we’re making do as best we can.

At least the view is nice. Several views are nice, come to think of it.

Have a lovely day, commander. Good luck training the soldiers and all that.

– Dorian

P.S. I suppose I haven’t officially pledged myself to the Inquisition as of yet. Well, let me do so now. Consider me pledged.

 

To whom it may concern (I do not care WHO is reading this at this point. I just want SOMEONE to reply):

I am Ambrosius Flavius Grist, First Enchanter of –

Oh, blast it doesn’t matter. Look. The point is that I have been sent to the Hinterlands in the care of an insane person. This FIEND has me gathering bees. BEES!

This ‘Sera’ (no further name given, no title to speak of) forces me to use my earth-shaking skills - my life-long training, you understand - to cause bees to swarm from their hives. Then, by means completely inexplicable to me, she manages to catch the bees in jars.

We have over fifty jars now. The buzzing in the tent keeps me awake all night. I am beginning to think this elf delights in tormenting me. I would run off, I swear I would. The only thing that prevents me from doing so is that I have a very poor sense of direction.

Someone rescue me, please. I will share a tent with whomever, if only to avoid this harpy and her BEES.

Yours cordially,

Ambrosius Flavius Grist

First Enchanter of —

Etc. etc. I’m sure you remember the rest by now.

 

DEER ANGRY ELF MAGE MAN WITH THE BEES,

U R SO LUCKY U GOT TO GO PLAY WITH SERA. I WANTED TO COME WITH U BUT SER COLON SAID NO HE NEEDED ME HERE WITH THE MAGES.

DID YOU KNOW THAT SOME MAGES CAME TO HAVEN? FIVE OF THEM I THINK. MAYBE SIX.

I HOPE YOU HAVE FUN IN THE HINDERLANS.

YOR FREND,

MORRIS

 

My lords and ladies of the Inquisition,

I feel I must write to you once again.

I wish to offer you my sincerest apologies for what happened in Redcliffe. I knew we had acted out of desperation, but after reading the Herald’s report on her dealings with Alexius, I am shocked anew.

I now see that we mages have been saved from a fate far worse than any I could have imagined. Your alliance appears all the more generous in light of this report.

News has also reached my ears of your Herald&rsqrsquos greeting to my people. We are _most_ pleased by her speech and the attitude that the Inquisition has adopted toward the mages. I trust it will only be the start of the great partnership that is to come.

I will not be at Haven when the breach is shut, but will journey to Haven as soon as I am able. May the Maker watch over you in these coming days.

With sincere hope and greatest gratitude, Grand Enchanter Fiona

 

I see that Sera dropped the report off at the Crossroads. At this rate, every person in Ferelden will read it before I do.

– Cullen

 

People of the Inquisition:

(What? I’m not allowed to say ‘people?’ Yes, but ‘lord and ladies’ just sounds so fussy.)

This is Alistair. King of Ferelden, that is. I think you’ve heard of me, yes? Well, Leliana has, obviously. Hello Leliana. Hope you’re well. You know, I was going to say that I find it quite odd how you haven’t changed your hairstyle in ten years. Don’t women usually change their hair every few… Oh, right. My secretary is reminding me my dictation tends to wander and wants me to stay on the subject for once.

Redcliffe Castle is now back in the hands of my Uncle Teagan - sort of. I mean, it _is_ back in his hands, though he’s only sort of my uncle. Not that this matters. And again, I’m off subject.

Right then. So, thanks for getting the mages out of Redcliffe and everything. Not that the mages were like an infestation, or anything. It’s just that they were outstaying their welcome. Also, I’m told they were undermining my authority or something. I don’t know about _that_. But there I was, trying to be nice, and then they…

And apparently, I’m rambling again. I swear, the way these secretaries go on, you’d think _they_ were the royalty. Okay, so sticking to the point:

Hello from Ferelden. Nice to meet you all. Stay out of my kingdom! (Said in a stern voice to make you all listen up.)

No, seriously though, I need you to tread lightly in my lands. I’m not just talking about taking it easy on the vegetation, but do watch yourself politically. The bannorn have this crazy idea that you’re all Orlesians. Insane, am I right? As far as I know, only Leliana is Orlesian. But you know how it goes. The more you deny a rumor, the more it grows.

Speaking of which, did your Herald _really_ speak to Andraste in the Fade and play her a game of Wicked Grace in exchange for the mark? That’s the rumor. What’s that? You don’t think that’s true? It would be neat if it was.

Seems my secretary is an unbeliever.

Alright, so I’m supposed to ask you to avoid annoying the Ferelden nobility, but if you want to save their peasants, they’re completely alright with that. I know, I know. They’re a tough crowd. At least you’re not trying to win them over in a Landsmeet.

Now, here’s the thing. I can’t exactly give you _aid_ , but I can send you spy reports…

Wait, no, strike that. I’m _not_ going to send you by spy reports because that would be _bad_. Also, it would be _treason_. So Leliana, I have _no_ idea how these reports got attached to this letter. No idea at all.

Speaking of reports, that report by your Herald is quite the thing, isn’t it? Fiona showed it to me. (Odd woman, that Fiona. Always staring at me with this really strange, sad expression.)

But can a person really go into the future with magic, I wonder? Scary thought. Scary future. Please don’t let all that stuff happen if you can possibly help it. Though I wouldn’t cry too many tears if something happened to the Orlesian empress. Celene’s a bit much, don’t you think?

What? I’m not supposed to say that either? You secretaries are no fun at all.

– King Alistair

(dictation taken by Bennet, secretary to his Majesty)

 

I have no words.

Please tell me the Redcliffe report did not go to Denerim with the king.

– Cullen

 

Report went back to Fiona and she gave it on to someone else.

I got a lot of bees. Want ‘em?

(Underneath is a picture of a long-haired elf in mage robes, running from a swarm of bees.)

 

I don’t think bees will be much help against the breach, Sera. Thank you, though.

Also, I don’t suppose we collected any queens? The Inquisition could use a supply of honey.

Perhaps that is premature of me. We’re still trying to make sure we have enough clean water for everyone. Still, honey would be nice for our tea.

When we get tea again, that is.

– Josephine

 

Farmer Dennet’s on the honey. Making honey, that is.

Gotta go. Found another lead. Wasps this time.

(A picture follows of a wasp nest. Under it is a cowering elf in mage robes.)

 

I have just received word that every Chantry within a hundred miles of Haven has a copy of the Herald’s speech pinned to its doors. Everyone now thinks we are promoting a new Order of Magi.

Leliana, what have you done?

– Cassandra

 

Leliana, you didn’t.

… Of course you did.

I suppose I’ll write up some more requisitions for tents. We’ll send supplies to Haven by bronto, and be ready for a huge influx of mages.

They’ll be flocking to us after this.

– Josephine

 

Leliana, I can’t decide if I want to say ‘well played’ or ‘Maker help me, I have a headache coming on.’

– Cullen

 

Or both, perhaps?

Pack your things, commander. You’re headed for the breach tomorrow.

– Leliana

 

Don’t I know it.

And you’ll be happy to hear that I found it.

After all this time, I found it.

The Herald’s report was in the latrine. It was buried under several issues of something called “The Randy Dowager Quarterly.”

WHAT the report was doing there, I haven’t a clue. At least it wasn’t missing any pages, though there are some stains that…

Anyhow, I have it in hand and will now _read_ this thing before it runs off again.

– Cullen

 

~~Kate~~

Trevelyan,

~~I just read your report and~~

~~After all that, I’m wondering~~

Casandra and I are coming up the hill tomorrow. Trust all is in order around the breach.

~~I hope you are~~

~~I’m sure it will all work out~~

See you then.

– Cullen

 

* * *

 

29th Harvestmere, ~~9:42~~ 9:41 Dragon

Everyone is coming up to the breach tomorrow. Well, a bunch of them, anyhow. This is sort of like some twisted version of the Conclave, really. Can’t imagine this was what Justina had in mind. Then again, we’re all working together, even if everyone is nervous since that abomination attack.

Bull agreed to hold off on training me tomorrow, considering it might be my last day on earth. That was nice of him. Instead, the mages and I will practice opening and closing the rift at the base of the breach, then tackle the breach itself at noon. Solas says the ambient energies will be most calm then (how he knows that, I haven’t a clue. But then, he knows a LOT about magic. Glad I had all week to talk to him. We had some nice conversations. I think. Then again, I’m still not sure he likes me much. Not that it matters, I suppose.)

Breach shut by lunch and that should be the end of it. I hope. I hope this works. I hope I manage not to make a fool of myself in front of ~~Cullen~~ everyone. I hope I don’t die, too.

Still no word about Robert. Scouts haven’t found him. Hope he’s okay.

Really nervous now. Not sure if I’ll be able to sleep. But I’d better try to.

Got a big day tomorrow.

Maker, please let me live through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambrose is a sort-of OC based on [this elf dude here](http://tumblr.sagefic.com/post/137925362684/about-that-elf-mage-dude/).


	36. Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Solas watches the skies and Robert sails in
    
    
    He knew storms well. Arguably, Solas 
    embodied them: he wielded lightning bolts
    as others fired arrows, he held torrents
    as his hand-shield, and left all landscapes changed.
    He knew all of the tempest's tell-tale signs:
    the blood-red sky, the shift of wind currents,
    the intangible hum of baited clouds, 
    ready to unleash all their pent-up rage.
    Most of all, Solas knew the calm before,
    and how it brought to some, electric fear,
    or else charged focus ready for the strike.
    
    The Herald had such focus, Solas thought.
    Just now, Kate stood before the gathered crowd
    of rebel mages, archers and soldiers,
    while overhead the sickly noon-time sky
    was caught in a perpetual whirlwind.
    And yet, Trevelyan ignored the cyclone,
    instead speaking as though to a classroom:
    
    "This is a plan of the temple," she said
    as she held up a paper for the crowd.
    The drawing showed what looked like a great box
    divided up into smaller boxes.
    "And this," she said, now pointing to the map,
    "is where the statue of Andraste stood.
    As you can see, we mages have placed glyphs
    upon the ground in a ritual circle. 
    Well, actually, it's called a Cone of Power. 
    It's a traditional formation for
    summoning or banishing from the Fade.
    In this case we'll be banishing the breach -
    or something very like that, one could say.
    The mages will stand here in this circle
    and I will stand at the point near the breach.
    The mages will use lyrium for power,
    then pour energy through the rune lines here," -
    Trevelyan traced her finger up the page -
    "and that will power the mark and close the breach.
    
    Solas could not but smile. He liked this plan.
    But then, he was the one who thought of it.
    
    "That's it?" a voice now asked. "The mages stand
    in a circle around you and it's done?"
    
    This question came from Commander Cullen.
    He stood at the back of the gathered crowd,
    having arrived late to the debriefing.
    Kate's eyes widened somewhat with clear surprise.
    for she had missed his quiet arrival.
    But she caught herself a moment later,
    and offered him a bemused sort of smile.
    The mages in the crowd, however, frowned
    and began to whisper in low voices.
    Solas heard someone say, "templar death squad."
    Commander Cullen flinched. Kate's eyes flashed fire.
    
    "Hello Cullen," she said in a crisp tone.
    "And you, Cassandra and Morris. And all
    the soldiers that you brought up here with you."
    (For now the courtyard was swiftly filling
    with late arrivals dressed in full armor.)
    "Welcome," Kate said to them, as though the hall
    in which they stood was not a blasted ruin,
    but a grand ballroom, set for a party.
    "We're glad you could join us. It will be good
    to have your help should we encounter more
    demons around the rift." Her speaking look
    was aimed at the mages, who looked chagrined.
    "Please come and sit closer," Kate urged them all.
    "Right there among the mages, there you go.
    After all, we are allies, aren't we?"
    
    Here Solas smirked to see how deftly she
    had managed these rough soldiers with manners
    and these Circle mages with their own pledge.
    It was quite neatly done, he must admit.
    It brought to mind a consideration:
    Though Solas created the ritual,
    the Herald convinced everyone to act.
    
    And as she spoke to the crowd once again,
    outlining the plan for the latecomers,
    it occurred to Solas that no one here
    would listen to an apostate like him.
    Even the elves would question his intent.
    And the mages would doubt his magic skill.
    They'd ask instead what right he had to stand
    before them all and speak of glyphs and wards
    and wonder loudly what the ehlven knew -
    or if such knowledge was entirely safe.
    
    And though Trevelyan now took pains to say
    that it was Solas who had dreamed the plan,
    though she gave credit where credit was due,
    she did so in the Circle's clipped accent.
    She spoke in ways the mages knew, and held
    herself with aristocratic grace.
    All the humans here - and all of the elves -
    stood taller under her authority.
    
    That thought burned him - burned him like lightning burns.
    Yet, Solas thought, he could be practical.
    Consider how his suggestions became
    orders when Trevelyan agreed with him.
    Far wiser then, to advise as he had.
    Far more effective for them all to think
    that this magic was Kates's and Dorian's.
    And if the work got done in either case,
    why should he fight the manner of doing?
    
    So Solas said nothing as Kate explained
    the plan and asked if there were any questions.
    
    "Say, don't you need to get into the sky,"
    young Morris suddenly asked from the back,
    "in order to shut the breach all the way?
    This only banishes the spinning thing."
    
    Kate's mouth dropped open. So did Cullen's too.
    Morris just shrugged. "Don't you? he asked again.
    
    "Well yes," Trevelyan admitted, "That's true.
    But until we can fly up to the clouds..."
    
    "We could use dragons," Iron Bull put in.
    
    "Dragons?" Commander Cullen frowned at him.
    
    "Sure thing," the giant said. "Let's find dragons
    and train 'em so we can ride 'em around."
    
    "Train and ride dragons?" Dorian sputtered.
    "You must be mad! You'd burn your fool head off."
    
    "You got any better ideas, Vint?"
    Iron Bull glared at him, petulantly.
    
    "Surely not dragons," Cassandra put in.
    
    "We could ride on griffons," Morris offered.
    Silence met this unhelpful suggestion.
    
    "We could," he insisted. Someone snickered.
    
    "I think Cullen might object," Kate told him.
    "Keeping griffons would double his work-load."
    
    "At the very least," Cullen said, dryly.
    
    "Oh, right," Morris said, frowning to himself.
    
    "Until we find a way to fly," Kate said,
    "let's settle for closing the lower breach. 
    That will make us all much safer at night.
    And if we get that task checked off the list
    we'll celebrate tonight down in Haven."
    
    The mages and soldiers brightened at this,
    for today was a Chantry holiday.
    Solas knew this feast day by other names,
    not 'Satinalia,' as they called it.
    The humans rechristened so many things,
    Solas could hardly recognize them now.
    
    "One question more," Cullen called from the back
    "Must you use lyrium? That seems unsafe."
    
    "I am afraid we must," Dorian said. 
    "The difficulty was we had to place
    complex wards against the red lyrium -
    that was our dear Kate's idea, you know.
    Don't know how the guards stationed at the breach
    weren't going mad from being so near it."
    
    "Stay on point, Vint," the Bull rumbled at him.
    
    "If you won't interrupt me, then I will," 
    Dorian replied, testily. "Ahem.
    So anyhow, we put wards 'round the place,
    but they block access to the natural Veil.
    Of course, the Veil in the inner temple
    is torn, and so we cannot safely draw
    power from the raw Fade itself. It's like
    we must bring our own water to the well."
    
    "Not my first choice, I must say," Cullen said.
    "Still," he conceded, looking up at Kate,
    "We'll do what must be done to make this work."
    
    Kate nodded in acknowledgment of this
    show of support, though she said nothing else.
    Solas himself found it quite curious
    how easily Cullen acquiesced to
    Kate's leadership. But then, Solas supposed,
    perhaps Cullen had reservations still.
    He and the Herald did not quite meet eyes.
    Was this a tension born of Circle towers,
    Solas wondered? Or was it something else?
    He could not tell. But so long as Cullen
    supported their plan, it did not matter.
    
    "Alright then," Kate said. "Any more questions?"
    
    "Won't all that energy make you explode?"
    This question also came from Ser Morris.
    
    "It might if she tried to hold onto it 
    like some mad, dominating magister," 
    Dorian laughed. "But our Herald is such
    a clever, humble thing that I'm quite sure
    she'll let the power flow just like water."
    
    So long as she was not swept down the stream,
    Solas now thought. Kate seemed to think this, too,
    for she gave all the crowd a brittle smile.
    
    "Any other questions?" she asked, tightly.
    
    "I think we got it, boss," Iron Bull said.
    
    "Wonderful," Kate nodded. "I'm sure you do.
    We mages have been studying our parts,
    and our soldiers are brave men and women.
    I've every confidence we will succeed
    if we keep focused and work together."
    
    "Hear, hear," Cullen agreed, and all the crowd
    joined in with solemn and stilted applause.
    
    It struck Solas again how these people
    were ready to place their lives in Kate's hands.
    But then, he thought, why shouldn't they do so?
    They gave her trust because she risked the most.
    
    Speaking of risk, Solas now felt a shift,
    as though another storm was gathering. 
    He felt it in the east: a growing charge
    below the hills - as though within the earth
    a tempest ran toward them through tunnels deep.
    Solas suspected he knew this storm, too,
    but he could not stop it from rolling in.
    Fear gripped his heart; he strove for outward calm.
    
    "Forgive me, Herald," Solas called aloud.
    "But note the sun is nearly overhead.
    Our magic is best cast at its zenith,
    as we discussed. Should we not then begin?"
    
    "Of course, Solas, thank you," Kate said.
    At her urging, everyone turned to go,
    reaching for bows and staves and lyrium vials.
    Cullen tried to wave to Kate but she turned
    and he was left frowning after her back.
    Cassandra walked with Bull, her sword in hand,
    and Dorian followed Bull quite closely.
    
    Solas, for his part, trailed right after Kate,
    walking through the hall to the temple door.
    The walls inside that space all glowed with runes
    that Solas cast himself, in symbols that
    these mages had not known and could not know.
    
    "Ready?" Dorian asked. Kate closed her eyes,
    then let out one slow breath and said, "Ready."
    
    And Solas could not help but feel sorry
    for this human who bravely bore the mark.
    He wondered how he'd thought that this frail girl
    could stand inside the oncoming tempest
    and not be crushed by it's zealous fury.
    Perhaps she could, this mage who favored ice,
    but better still if she could burn with fire,
    if she could learn to channel pure lightning.
    Storm was her best chance of survival now.
    
    For after all, Solas thought to himself:
    The only thing that survived every squall,
    was in the end, the raging gale itself.
    
    

* * *

“You know, I don’t recall the sky over Haven looking so…”

Robert paused, staring out across the lake. A line of mountains rose up from the opposite bank, like a jagged, white wall at the end of a silver-floored room. Robert cocked his head, then he gave up on any hope of delicacy and shrugged.

“Well, it looks like a vulva, doesn’t it? A green vulva,” he added. “Do the qunari women ever come in green? Because if they did, that’s exactly what their parts would look like, I’m sure of it. Probably that big, too. They are a race of giants, after all.”

Robert’s perusal of the sky’s delicate bits was cut short by a grunt and a thump. Robert turned around just in time to see Barris slump against the bottom of the boat. Robert rolled his eyes.

“Really, Barris,” he grumbled. “If you’re going to be sick, do it over the side of the boat. I still don’t know where Cole found this thing, but I’d like to return it in the condition we found it.”

“The fisherman went looking for hope in the Hinterlands,” Cole said, looking down at Robert from his perch on top of the mast. His feet dangled against the fluffing sails. “He found a handsome mage and chose to stay.”

“Lovely for him,” Robert said. “Meanwhile, we’ve got his boat and hardly any breeze at all. Getting bloody sick of this lake. Getting bloody sick of Barris lurching around like a drunk, too.”

“He’s not drunk,” the Cole said. “Drunk is full, happy, careless. He’s empty, sad…”

“It was an expression, Cole,” Robert said curtly. “Barris is just…” Robert frowned at the sight of Barris’ face. “Well, he’s a mess, isn’t he?”

“He wishes you’d be kinder,” Cole told Robert. That just made Robert feel even more irritable.

“I usually am very kind,” Robert replied in a voice that was anything but. “When I’ve been fed. When I’m not tired of tramping across the country, carrying a stumbling templar on my shoulders. When I’m not sleeping in grimy cottages and managing boats all by myself.”

“He wishes now he hadn’t taken the lyrium,” Cole said, looking down at Barris sadly. “But he only wanted to serve.”

“Well, he can serve now by saving his strength for the hike,” Robert said.

Barris simply groaned and leaned over the boat, retching. And just like that, Robert felt badly for having harassed the man a moment ago. One of the more annoying things about traveling with a spirit of compassion, Robert supposed, was how that spirit seemed to be catching.

“Oi, Barris,” Robert called to the templar. “I’m sorry for sniping at you. Look,” he added, as Barris laid his head against the railing wearily, “Stay with me. We’re nearly across the lake.”

“Lake?” Barris breathed.

“That’s right. Lake, um…Lake Haven,” Robert lied, not at all sure what the place was called. “Remember how we set out at dawn? It’s nearly noon now. I can see the bank from here, and the path. But no one on duty there - that’s odd.”

“The guard snuck off to the party,” Cole informed him. “He wanted the masks and the cakes more than the cold.”

“Hard to blame him,” Robert conceded. “So there you are, Barris. We’re almost to Haven.”

“He still has to climb the path,” Cole pointed out.

Meaning Robert would have to haul him up the path. That would take them, what? An hour? Two hours?

“Closer to four,” Cole said.

Suddenly, Robert felt his bad mood returning.

“Haven,” Barris whispered, his lips mashed against the railing. “Lyrium,” he added dreamily.

“Now that you’ve gotten this far into withdrawals,” Robert said, “you might as well come clean.”

“Can’t do that,” Barris shook his head, and this suggestion seemed to alarm him and make him quite coherent all at once. “That’ll kill you. Chantry always said…”

Robert snorted. “The Chantry says a lot of things that turn out to be bunk. Don’t know why you’d trust them on that one.”

Barris looked up at Robert for a moment, his eyes only half-focused, then he gazed past Robert to the sky.

“That’s… That’s…” he stared at the breach in horror.

“Rather vulgar, isn’t it?” Robert agreed. “And here I thought Kate was supposed to close it.”

“She is closing it,” Cole told him. “Right now.”

Robert looked at the sky doubtfully.

“The power flows,” Cole said, his voice low and rapid-fire. “It hurts her, it burns her arm, snakes around her heart. It tries to tempt her into keeping it. But she remembers the people at her back. She thinks of the silent soldier on the hill, watching. She lets go, and it burns in her bright, flowing through every finger.”

“Huh,” Robert said. “If only I knew what the Void you were talking about…”

Light shot out above the mountains. It snapped up to the sky from the ground like a shard of lightning. For a moment, there was a shimmering, then a shivering, then a rippling effect in the sky, and then, suddenly, the breach itself faded away. The clouds above the mountains still looked green and hole-like, but the rocks that had swirled under the breach began to fall. They fell slowly, as though sinking in water. Then…

 _BOOM_.

The delayed blast shook the air around them. Robert ducked, Barris gave a start, as if unsure of where he was, and Cole just grinned.

“Her hand is covered in blood,” he said, happily. “It hurts worse than anything.”

Robert did not ask why Cole was happy about this. Right now, his ears were ringing so badly he was sure he’d misheard the spirit anyhow.

“But she’s alive,” Cole continued. “She stands out of the ashes and everyone is cheering her. Even the oldest one grins. But the soldier stands silent. He can’t think of anything to say. It’s hard to speak beyond the words he knows.”

Robert continued to ignore Cole. Instead, he tugged at his earlobe, trying to get the ringing to go away.

“Well,” Robert said a moment later, “I guess the breach is… Sealed? Is it sealed? It’s not entirely gone.”

“It’s mostly sealed,” Cole told him. “Mostly.”

“Well, mostly is better than nothing,” Robert said. “Makes Haven a trifle more inviting. Now, as for coming into dock, I could really use some help…”

But Cole was looking back at the lake behind them. And for the first time since Robert had met him, Cole looked truly frightened.

“What?” Robert asked.

“They are coming,” Cole said.

“Who’s coming?” Robert asked.

“Red, raw, cracked, creaking,” Cole murmured. “He hid them under the breach’s roar. They tramp and tunnel and twist inside. Running from the Redoubt…”

“Redoubt?” Robert repeated. “The templars followed us?”

“What?” Barris gasped, looking out over the lake. “That can’t… But we’ve been walking every day with scarcely any rest.” As if to prove his point, Barris looked ready to faint away.

“Not nearly fast enough, if you ask me,” Robert replied.

“We walked, they marched,” Cole answered. “We slept, they marched.”

“An army that big has to sleep,” Robert scoffed.

“They don’t,” Cole said.

Robert didn’t quite believe that, but then, Cole had never been wrong before now.

“At least we got to the lake first,” Robert said. “That ought to slow them down.”

“No,” Cole said. “The water won’t hold them back. They’ll take the old paths the dwarves made.”

“What, the Deep Roads?” Robert gaped. “Do they go underneath the lake?”

Though really, Robert thought a moment later, that was a stupid question. Everyone knew the Deep Roads went everywhere, if only one knew where to look for them.

“They’re here… for me,” Barris murmured. “I should have known… Never could defect…”

Robert shook his head. “No. I think… I think they’re after Kate.”

Cole nodded.

“How much time have we got, Cole?” Robert demanded. “Can we beat them to Haven?”

“Maybe,” Cole replied, as Robert began to arrange the sails to come about. “Barely. But if we hurry…”

“Oh, we’ll hurry,” Robert promised him. “Barris, can you keep up, or will we have to leave you at the docks?”

“I’ll keep up,” Barris said. The templar carefully stood, placing one hand against the mast for support. “I’ll be right behind you every step of the way. Even if this turns out to be my last march.”

“It might,” Cole said, sadly.

“No,” Robert told Cole and Barris both. “No one is dying today. Least of all Katie. We’ve got to get up there and join her…”

But then it occurred to him that if the templars went through the Deep Roads, Kate would have no warning of their approach at all.

“No warning but us,” Cole agreed.

Robert’s mouth hardened as he swung the tiller toward the dock ahead. “Help me with the lines, Cole,” Robert said. “And Barris, you gather your strength and just…pray.”

From his slumped position against the mast, Barris nodded and raised his hand up to the stormy sky.


	37. A Study in Suspense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Plume is mightier than the sword

The skies were silent now.

Silence was nice, Kate thought. Silence was a world away from the roaring the breach had made. Silence was much nicer than the howl of lyrium, the sound of ritual magic as power had coursed through her arm and filled her ears.

But right now, the town of Haven was anything but silent. Everywhere people were laughing and talking and there was even a makeshift choir singing beside the biggest bonfire. Kate stood on a small rise before the Chantry, watching people as they danced and passed around drinks. Several very sleepy children curled up on pallets, their cheeks smeared with jam. A few village teenagers and an apprentice mage ran by, wearing makeshift masks. An elven scout, seated before the fire, leaned her head on the knee of the human next to her. The fellow looked down at her with a wistful, wondering expression, then gently laid his hand upon her hair. It made Kate ache to watch them all. She wished they could enjoy celebrations like this all the time.

Lost in her thoughts as she was, Kate didn’t hear the footsteps behind her.

“Hello.”

“Oh,” Kate said, starting. “Hello Cullen.”

For it was Cullen. As Kate turned to face him, her heart seemed to race a little. Probably from being startled like that, Kate thought. Although, her pulse had raced earlier too, when Cullen had arrived at the temple. Up there at the breach, Kate had been struck by how _alive_ Cullen had looked, even from across the crowd. Now, however, he stood right beside Kate, and every aspect of his face stood out in vibrant detail. His curling hair looked almost reddish in the last light of the sunset. Cullen’s eyes were smudged from lack of sleep and his cheeks were chapped from the cold. He’d shaved for Satinalia, she noticed. Meanwhile, Kate remained unwashed and rumpled from camping in a burned-out temple for a week.

Kate absently rubbed her right hand over her ashy cheek. Her left hand hung at her side, well-bandaged after Solas had healed the gash left by the breach.

“Evening,” Cullen told her, nodding his head in greeting. “Good work on the breach,” he added, pointing to the slowly-revolving clouds. “You did quite well with that.”

“Oh, thank you,” Kate said, letting her right hand drop. “I wasn’t the only one doing the work, but thank you all the same.”

“No, you weren’t,” Cullen agreed. “The mages came through for us, as you knew they would. I suppose I ought to say it once and for all: You were right about them. Again, well done.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Kate smiled, feeling warmed to her toes. Though she had heard congratulations all afternoon long, Cullen’s approval meant most to her by far. Probably because of all of their disagreements about how best to get the breach shut.

“To be fair,” Kate told Cullen, “Solas deserves most of the credit. It was his glyph-work, primarily.”

“No wonder those runes looked so unfamiliar,” Cullen said. “Well, it may have been his handiwork with the symbols, but it was you who managed the upper camp and got the mages working together. No, don’t be modest and deny it. They told me so themselves. We had plenty of time to talk after Bull carried you off,” Cullen added in a mutter.

“Oh, yes,” Kate said. “I didn’t expect him to do that. Bull might have given me some warning before he lifted me onto his shoulders and paraded me down the hill.”

“He should have,” Cullen agreed, looking stern for a moment. “You seemed rather alarmed by it.”

“The cliffs appeared taller when I was clinging to his horns,” Kate admitted. “Still, I can hardly fault his enthusiasm. And he saved me the hike down, besides. I was so tired, and… Oh no!” Kate gasped, as a thought suddenly occurred to her.

“What?” Cullen asked.

“Lieutenant Lysette and all the soldiers stationed at the temple,” Kate groaned, “Maker’s breath, they’re still up there in the cold. I meant to invite them to join us for the celebrations. But after the breach was shut, I completely forgot.”

“I can’t imagine why it slipped your mind,” Cullen observed dryly, “Riding a qunari down the hill, everyone in Haven crowding around to congratulate you. I had to wait until you slipped away so that I could get near enough to speak to you myself.”

“You were waiting to talk to me?” Kate asked him, feeling flattered by the thought.

“What? Oh, um, no. I mean, it wasn’t a bother. I was just standing nearby,” Cullen coughed and cleared his throat. “Anyhow, don’t worry about Lysette. I told her that you’d granted her and all the soldiers a week’s furlough. A reward for their hard work. She sends her thanks and compliments. Or she would, if she wasn’t so busy dancing with that fellow there.” Cullen pointed at the bonfire.

“Thank you,” Kate said. “That was very kind of you.”

“Practical, more like,” Cullen replied. “After all, the soldiers aren’t going to benefit from an officer who’s too tired to make good decisions.” He paused, and looked over at Kate expectantly.

“That’s true,” Kate agreed, for it looked as though Cullen wanted an answer.

“You told me that,” Cullen said, leaning his head toward her slightly. “A week ago, do you recall?”

“I said that?”

“You did. And I took it to heart. Realized I’d been rather bad-tempered and needed the extra sleep. Oh, and I’m sorry if I snapped at you. I seem to have done so to a lot of people.”

“That’s fine,” Kate said, touched that he’d apologize for something she’d nearly forgotten about.

“But you,” Cullen said, looking over at her. “You didn’t get much rest, did you? I understand from Lysette that you scarcely slept.”

Kate didn’t answer at first. No, she had not slept much, but she didn’t like explaining why. Between analyzing the logistics of the ritual and avoiding nightmares about corpses and swirling skies, Kate had found it just as well to stay up half the night. Most nights, she’d been in her tent, holding magic light in her hand and pouring over her lists or ancient tomes. It was rather amazing she hadn’t collapsed, Kate now realized - or burst into tears at some completely inopportune time.

But to Kate’s relief, she hadn’t wept once since returning from that blighted future. That had to count as proof that she was finally growing tougher, Kate thought. Or maybe she was just growing numb to the insanity around her.

“I figured I’d rest when I was done with the breach,” Kate said, shrugging.

“Or the breach was done with you,” Cullen said, baldly. “Yes, I’ve endured similar campaigns: fight or die. Sometimes that’s a necessity. But you can’t do that forever, you know. Consider yourself on leave for the next three days.”

“I… Yes ser,” Kate said, rather taken aback.

“What? No, that’s not an order,” Cullen said, his brows drawing together. “I only meant… Sorry. Didn’t mean it to sound like that. I just meant that you ought to take some time to rest.”

“And what about everyone else who needs rest?” Kate wanted to know. “Solas worked just as hard on that ritual, and Dorian and Bull…”

“Yes, but they didn’t just have all that magic poured through them, did they?” Cullen asked, gesturing at Kate’s bandaged fist. “Watching you stand in the center of that ritual, there was a moment where… Well anyway,” he said, shaking that thought off. “That blighted future won’t show up all in a rush, now will it? We can take a few days to rest before heading out looking for the Elder One.”

 _Can we?_ Kate wondered. She wasn’t so sure they could afford to wait. Furthermore, Kate suspected Cullen would not take any rest himself. While she was napping, he’d be at his paperwork again, tracking down leads and moving the troops forward.

Then, as she was studying Cullen’s face, Kate suddenly felt a strange sense of disembodiment. This had happened so many times this week, where her vision shifted, and suddenly she was seeing memories from that blighted future. Right now, Kate saw Cullen not as he was, golden and shaven, but as a ruined corpse, impaled upon a pike. She drew in a breath, shuddering.

“Kate?”

“Yes?” Kate said. She closed her eyes for the briefest moment, trying to will away that sight. Then she opened her eyes and tried to see Cullen as he was now.

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked her.

 _Not really_ , Kate wanted to say. But she just smiled - grimaced, rather - and said, “Fine.”

“Are you?” Cullen asked, doubtfully. “I know it’s not my business, but… Well, no, perhaps it is.” He let out a breath, then fixed Kate with a searching look.

“What?” she said, now feeling very exposed.

“I’ve been concerned about you,” Cullen told her, frowning.

“Um, okay,” Kate said, nervously.

“I read your report on Redcliffe Castle,” Cullen said. “And while I know you’ve been telling everyone you don’t want to talk about it…”

“I don’t,” Kate said at once.

“But that’s the trouble, isn’t it?” Cullen returned. “You don’t want to talk about it. Look, I’m not trying to pry - Maker knows I’m not…”

“Aren’t you?” Kate frowned. “Look, I’m fine…”

“You’re not,” Cullen said, in a decisive sort of voice. Everyone else had backed off at this point, Kate thought, but Cullen just plowed on ahead saying, “What you saw: the battles, the blood magic,” he shuddered. “That’s something to trouble even the most seasoned soldier.”

“And I’m not terribly seasoned,” Kate said with a sigh.

“No, you’re not,” Cullen agreed. “But at some point, one’s veteran status hardly helps. Visions such as that…” He broke off there, staring out at the fires.

“It wasn’t a vision,” Kate told him softly, also looking at the lights. “It was real.”

That was the trouble, Kate thought. It had been real, even if no one seemed to understand that, even if everyone treated her report as nothing more than a warning or a story.

“People died in that place,” Kate said, now speaking mostly to herself. “In a world I left behind, a world I’m about to destroy as surely as the Elder One did. People died. And you, Cullen…”

 _You died, too,_ Kate thought. But she didn’t say that. It was too awful to speak aloud for one thing, but there was another reason that Kate stopped there. At that moment, another thought occurred to her entirely:

Why _had_ Cullen died in that blighted future anyway?

Cullen needn’t have sacrificed himself, now that Kate thought about it. He had known that Redcliffe Castle could not be taken. Tactically, the decision to lay siege to the place made no sense. It would have made far more sense if Cullen had sought out allies, to bolster his ranks and gather resources to breach the walls. The templars would have made excellent allies, Kate mused. Cullen had wanted them from the first. And with her and Leliana and Cassandra gone, there would have been no one to stop him from forming that alliance. Surely the Lord Seeker would have come to Cullen’s aid, if only for the pleasure of destroying the mage rebellion in a single stroke. Cullen might have taken control of the Inquisition itself, come to think of it. He and the templars might have found a way to close the breach without the aid of the mark, to re-establish the Order as the greatest power in Thedas. With the world in chaos, who would have blamed him? Cullen would have been hailed as a hero.

But he hadn’t done any of that. Maybe Cullen felt that the Lord Seeker couldn’t be trusted or maybe there was too little time to send for help. It wasn’t as though this present Cullen could explain his future self’s actions. But whatever the reason, that future-Cullen had stuck to his post and he’d stuck to the plan. Even when there was no one left to hold him accountable, Cullen had remained loyal to the Inquisition, to his allies, and even to Kate herself. In that darkest of futures, Cullen had proved trustworthy.

Cullen _was_ trustworthy, Kate realized. Maker’s breath, that sounded rather unfair - as if she hadn’t entirely trusted him before now. But now that she thought about it, Kate realized that she hadn’t trusted him, not really. A part of her had been holding back, secretly fearful that Cullen remained a mage-hunter in his heart of hearts. But now Kate saw that Cullen had broken free of the Chantry’s leash in the most important of ways. He might still be taking lyrium, and he might always remain suspicious of mages, but when it came down to it, Cullen had chosen his side. Whatever his past mistakes, whatever his present attitudes, Cullen had behaved - or rather, _would_ behave - with loyalty and honor. Kate could trust him in that.

She could trust him, Kate thought. She could trust Cullen. That meant…

Kate wasn’t sure what that meant. It didn’t change the fact that she and Cullen had argued in the past. It didn’t change the fact that they had agreed to work around their disagreements, then stumbled back into debates at every turn. But it did start shifting things inside of Kate’s head. Some ideas had gotten knocked over and other ideas were dusting themselves off and standing up for reconsideration.

“Apologies,” Cullen said, and Kate realized she’d entirely lost track of their conversation. The light around them had grown cooler as the sun slipped below the horizon. “I did not mean to make light of what happened to you.”

“What?” Kate blinked at him.

“You’re right,” Cullen told her. “You’re absolutely right. Blades only cut so deep. Sometimes what you _see_ in battle leaves the greater scar. Visions are no less a source of injury, no less a form of tort– Cullen coughed here, then said, quite sharply:

“A form of torture. And it’s no less painful when there’s no visible wound.”

Cullen said nothing more than that, but he didn’t have to. His hunched posture and haunted eyes spoke for him. Sympathy welled in Kate, much stronger now than ever before.

“I’m so sorry, Cullen,” she whispered. “I keep forgetting that Kirkwall… It must have been awful.”

“What? Kirkwall wasn’t…” Cullen made a frustrated sound and shook his head. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean _me_.”

“Didn’t you?” Kate wanted to know.

Cullen seemed to wrestle with that thought before folding his arms over his chest.

“Alright, yes,” he admitted, irritably. “I’ve seen similar things, but I wasn’t asking for pity.”

“I didn’t think you were,” Kate replied. “It sounded like you were trying to offer understanding.”

“Yes, exactly,” Cullen said, his expression relieved. “That’s exactly what I was trying to do. I was concerned about you this past week. It’s not like you to be so alone.”

“Alone?” Kate said, taken aback. “What do you mean, alone? I’ve been surrounded by people all week.”

“True, but according to Lysette, you withdrew from company every chance that you got,” Cullen said. “Scarcely spoke a word if you didn’t have to.”

“Lysette told you that?” Kate asked, astonished.

“Well, yes,” Cullen said, looking a bit uncomfortable now. “It is my job to get a full report on things. And your isolation troubled me. I’ve noticed that when you’re alright, you spend time chatting with people. When you’re not, you wander off and fall silent.”

Kate’s mouth dropped open. She tried to speak, but only managed to gape at Cullen like a fish.

“That’s what I’ve seen anyhow,” Cullen said, not meeting her eyes.

“I didn’t realize I was so transparent,” Kate said, unable to deny it.

“You’re not,” Cullen said at once. “You have no idea how confusing… No. All I meant was, I understand. Well, as near as anyone can understand such a thing. It’s hard when damage is done. It’s harder still when it happens inside, where no one bothers to look. I mean… Maker’s breath, what am I saying? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go on like this. I only meant to comfort you – er… Blast, I’m making a hash of this.”

The night was falling swiftly now, and Cullen’s face was half-illuminated by the red light of the nearest bonfire, half in shadow. He looked deeply troubled, so troubled that Kate found she could not leave Cullen alone with such thoughts. After all, he had not abandoned her in that dark future. She could not abandon him to his dark past.

“You’re not making a hash of this,” Kate said, reaching out with her voice, because she did not trust to touch. “Quite the opposite, really. You’re being very kind.”

Cullen glanced over at her, his expression considering - perhaps even hopeful.

“And I’m sorry about Kirkwall,” Kate went on. “Not just that it happened, but for the way I attacked you about it in the Mire. If your memories are even half as painful as mine about Redcliffe…” Kate stopped there. “Maker’s breath,” she muttered. “As if you could compare the two.”

“You can’t,” Cullen said, flatly. “That’s the trouble, really. Two soldiers can go through the same battle and remember two entirely difference campaigns. Or two people from a world away might be intimately acquainted with the same nightmares. You can’t compare it, Kate. If you suffer at all, then you suffer enough.”

Kate swallowed hard. “Then I’m sorry for what you suffered, Cullen,” she said. “And if you ever want to talk about it - not that you must, but if you want to - then I’d be honored to hear you out. I can’t pretend I’ve been through all the things you have, but I’m a good listener, or so Coll says.”

Cullen’s chin went up, and he took a sharp breath. Kate wondered if she had startled him by saying this. Or perhaps he was simply finding her offer a bit odd, considering that Kate had been unwilling to speak to anyone this past week. Yet now that Kate thought about it, who was she, to offer the Commander of the Inquisition a listening ear? Cullen had any number of other people to confide in - like Rylen or Cassandra or all the dozens of soldiers who knew the world of battles far better than she. How could a soft, cloistered mage possibly hope to understand a hardened, worldly templar? More to the point, Kate wondered, why was she so eager to?

“Thank you, Kate,” Cullen said after a moment.

“Well, you’ve listened to me talk about my troubles often enough,” Kate said, feeling a bit flustered now.

“Yes, I have,” Cullen agreed. “And you’ve heard plenty of mine as well. So um, you know. Likewise.” He shrugged his furred shoulders.

“Likewise?” Kate repeated.

“As in, likewise, I’m offering to listen to you as well.”

“You are?” Kate blinked. Cullen was inviting her to confide in him? Was she even allowed to do that? Surely the commander of the troops had far more important requirements on his time.

“Yes well, Maker knows I’m not the best listener,” Cullen admitted. “I’m rubbish at comforting people and I despise small talk. Not that conversation with you ever feels like small talk. Quite the opposite, actually. But I’m willing to listen,” he went on. “You can talk to me any time you like.”

“Oh,” Kate said. Even though they were a good distance from the nearest fire, her toes now felt quite warm. Beside her, Cullen had flinched and now looked sharply away.

“Any time you like,” he muttered. “Maker.”

“Thank you,” Kate told him, but Cullen did not seem to have heard her.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she said again. “That’s very kind of you.”

“What? Oh. Of course,” he said, gruffly.

Then he said nothing more. Silence fell between them, stretching out for a minute or more. The quiet mirrored the sky, thick and swirling as each of them stood lost in thought. Night fell in earnest now, and the moon began to rise behind the clouds. Kate glanced over at Cullen and nervously chewed her lower lip.

Well this was fitting, Kate thought. How like the two of them to offer to listen to one another, and then run out of things to say.

“Well, I suppose I ought to get back to my duties,” Cullen said after a moment.

Kate felt a sudden spurt of disappointment. “Must you?” she asked. “On Satinalia?”

“Oh,” Cullen said. “I just assumed our conversation was over. But if my company… Er, that is, if you’d like to talk about something else…”

“I would,” Kate said, eagerly. Cullen seemed to smile at that, or at least Kate thought he did. Then again, in the dim light of the fires, it was hard to tell.

“Alright then,” he said. “What should we talk about? Not that we need a plan or anything,” he added. “Although we could talk about plans. Plans for tracking down this Elder One fellow, for example.”

”‘Fellow’?” Kate mused. “Are we certain the Elder One is a man?”

Cullen chuckled. “I guess we don’t know that, do we? But with a name like ‘Elder One,’ I assumed we were dealing with a male. Most women of my acquaintance aren’t keen on advertising their age.”

“Good point,” Kate laughed.

It was just a short laugh, there and then done, but it felt good - a warm answer to Cullen’s warm smile. It suddenly occurred to Kate that she hadn’t laughed since that day in the Hinterlands, when she’d spoken to Cullen about Brother Genetivi. She might not have cried all week, but she hadn’t laughed, either. Suddenly, Kate wanted to laugh some more.

“Oh, we should tell jokes!” she said, excitedly.

Cullen made a sort of sputtering noise. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Well, it is Satinalia.”

“Um…” Cullen looked at her as though this connection made no sense to him at all.

“Go on,” Kate said, chuckling, if only in practice for the laughter to come. “Senior students first.”

“Senior?” Cullen frowned.

“You know what I mean,” Kate said. Or maybe he didn’t, Kate now thought.

“Don’t Fereldens tell jokes on Satinalia?” she asked him.

“No,” Cullen said. “No they don’t.”

“Oh,” Kate said, frowning as well. “I thought that was a Thedas-wide tradition. Ostwick is mad for riddles, you see, and Satinalia is the best time for collecting them. Our Circle was especially keen on it. Mages don’t often exchange presents, so we made up for it with words. We shared jokes, riddles, funny stories…”

Cullen continued to frown.

“Or maybe we could just talk about something funny?” Kate asked, hopefully. “Something other than the Elder One, at least.”

“Something funny,” Cullen repeated, in a thoughtful voice. “Something funny…”

He trailed off there, looking so serious in his pursuit of humor that Kate had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

* * *

“Now, when you say ‘something funny,’” Cullen began.

“Or we can speak of something else,” Kate told him, “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

Being put on the spot wasn’t what had thrown him, Cullen thought. Rather, their earlier conversation had been more difficult than he wanted to admit. He had tried to reach out to Kate, and only ended up bringing up his own troubles. Skirting around the issue of Kinloch Hold had left him feeling a bit shaky, as had that slip up about talking anytime Kate liked. As soon as he’d realized that was exactly what he’d said to another woman years ago, he’d been left momentarily speechless. Then, when Kate asked him to stay and talk, Cullen had felt a very unexpected jolt of delight. So really, after that head-spinning conversation just now, humor sounded wonderful. A good joke was just the thing to change the subject entirely.

Now if only he could think of one.

The jokes Cullen remembered all seemed stale or silly. And while he did occasionally mutter some wry sentiment to amuse himself, those observations were more spur-of-the-moment. Cullen had never been asked to come up with witticisms on demand.

“Really,” Kate said, when Cullen remained silent, “We needn’t do this. I’m sure I can share jokes with Coll later. Though Coll’s jokes are usually pretty inappropriate,” she added.

“I’m afraid most of the jokes I know are similarly unsuitable,” Cullen admitted. “Soldiers, barracks. You can imagine.”

“Templars tell dirty jokes?”

“Not usually, no. Although you’d be surprised some of the things my roommate in Kirkwall… Well anyway.” Cullen frowned at the memory.

“I’m so sorry,” Kate said at once. “Look, we can talk about something else. Like the Elder One, I suppose.”

But she clearly did not want that, Cullen thought. Kate didn’t want to talk about the Elder One any more than she had wanted to talk about…

The Redcliffe report. Now _there_ was something funny. Cullen’s lips curled in a smile.

“Now that you mention it,” he said, “I do have something funny to tell you.”

“Oh?” Kate said, brightening a little.

“This last week,” Cullen began, “I tried to get hold of your report on Redcliffe Castle. It seemed everyone in the Inquisition managed to read it before me, all passing it on before I could have it.”

“Oh,” Kate said, her smile fading. “Yes, I’d heard that.”

Evidently, she didn’t find that as funny as Cullen did. No matter. That wasn’t the punchline anyway.

“When I found that report,” Cullen went on, “After an entire week of sending notes and messengers after it, mind you - I found it in the latrine.”

Cullen paused to let that sink in. Kate’s worried expression thawed as she wrinkled her nose.

“You mean people were reading my report as they…?”

“It would seem so,” Cullen said. “But what really got me was what I found tucked inside the report.”

Kate cringed. “Something sanitary, I hope.”

“Depends on your definition of ‘sanitary,’” Cullen said. “It was another piece of reading material. Something called ‘The Randy Dowager Quarterly’?”

Kate turned pink. “How interesting,” she said.

“Very,” Cullen agreed.

“Er, right,” Kate said. “But you don’t read the Dowager… I mean, do you? Did you?” She looked both intrigued and appalled by the thought.

“Never read it before,” Cullen said, “but as the thing was all shuffled in with your report, I took it with me. And when I was sorting out the pages, I discovered the most curious thing…”

Kate was now listening to him with rapt attention, and Cullen found himself enjoying this very much.

“It turns out that our Fallow Mire rescue mission was based on the plot of a romance novel. Did you know that? Something by… Oh, what was that historian’s name again? Portia Plume?”

Kate’s expression was everything Cullen had hoped for. She looked completely dumbstruck, her lovely mouth dropped open in a perfect ‘O’. Cullen could not help but grin.

“And here’s the really funny thing,” Cullen went on. “It seems that everyone else in the mire: the Seeker, the Herald, Scout Harding - probably all the soldiers, too - were in on the joke. They all knew where they plan came from. Except their commander, who was blissfully unaware that he was taking marching orders from a romance novel.”

He fixed her with a pointed look. Kate’s eyes went huge.

“I’m so sorry!” she blurted out, waving her hands before her. “I only suggested that plan because I thought it was the best course of action - truly I did! Please believe me when I say that I took the mission very seriously and I would never endanger our people for a joke. Regardless of where the idea came from, it worked out in the end and you’re… You’re…” Kate broke off, frowning.

“You’re laughing at me.”

He was. Cullen hadn’t meant to start laughing, but Kate just looked so earnest that he couldn’t help it. Her brows unknitted.

“You’re not angry with me,” Kate said, almost wonderingly. But Cullen was laughing too hard to answer. Kate’s lips started to curl in a smile.

“You had me worried,” she said. “I thought you were taking me to task for breaking protocol or endangering our people… Oh, _stop_ , Cullen,” she said, letting her hands drop. “You’re making me blush.”

“You were managing that perfectly well on your own,” Cullen said, finding his voice at last.

“I was not!” Kate sputtered in protest.

“You were,” Cullen told her. “And I wish you could have been there when I finally made the connection. Just a few weeks ago, I was explaining the Mire mission reports to my officers. I told them how you’d come up with this _brilliant_ plan based off of the writings of ‘noted Avvar historian Portia Plume.’”

“You didn’t!” Kate exclaimed.

“Of course I did,” Cullen replied. “You certainly didn’t tell me what the woman really wrote. Ruvena turned a very strange color of purple and burst into a fit of giggles. I thought she was going to hurt herself for a moment there. Keran simply looked appalled.”

“They’ve read it?” Kate asked, amazed.

“I would hazard a guess that Keran is merely familiar with the author,” Cullen replied. “But then, I could be wrong. His off-duty exploits… Well, anyhow. Rylen seemed as confused as I was, and Morris - Well, you can imagine. Morris stood there, chewing his fingernails. Completely oblivious, as always. Thank the Maker that Ruvena and Keran are discreet. They could have teased me about it endlessly. Instead they just let me continue in my ignorance, as you and Cassandra did.”

“I’m so sorry…” Kate began.

“It’s quite alright,” Cullen cut her off. “As you said, the plan was a good one, regardless of where it came from. Though I can understand now why you misled me regarding the source. Clearly, you didn’t want to expose your taste in literature.”

Kate let out a little cry of indignation. “What does that mean?” she wanted to know.

“I only meant that romance novels aren’t considered very cultured reading,” Cullen explained.

“Cultured reading?” Kate repeated, looking affronted. “I’ll have you know that just because I read Plume for fun doesn’t mean I can’t also follow a four-inch tome on the relative resonance of the Veil in key spots throughout Thedas.”

“I didn’t suggest it did,” Cullen replied. “But you don’t advertise your preference in fiction the way you share your Veil-studies, now do you? Or was there some other reason you didn’t tell me who Plume really was?”

Cullen knew he’d made his point when Kate glanced sharply away.

“She’s is a very popular author,” she said, defensively.

“Yes, I gathered that,” Cullen replied, dryly. “Because when I went looking for more information on this ‘noted historian’ of yours, I found her. The entire collected works are in the Haven library.”

“What?”

“Every last volume,” Cullen said. “All sitting there on the bottom shelves in the war room. Probably castoffs from noble pilgrims coming to the village.”

Kate coughed into her fist and looked sharply at the ground. Cullen glanced over at her.

“Don’t you think?” he asked her.

“Oh undoubtedly,” she said, quickly.

“Of course they must be,” Cullen agreed. “I can’t imagine Justinia packing such stories into the Chantry. Though they’ve seen a surprising amount of use. Most of the collection was checked out, along with back issues of the Randy Dowager for the past two years. I noticed that Dorian, of all people, left his name on the inventory list. Took some book called ‘Harrowings and Furrowings,’ as I recall.”

Kate looked up sharply and made a choking sound.

“You’re familiar with it?” Cullen asked.

“Um, sort of?” Kate said, wincing.

“Ah,” Cullen said. “Then I assume it’s not a treatise on southern Circle history?”

“Not at all,” Kate said. “It’s a very fanciful account of mages and their, um…proclivities. Maker save me. No wonder he was quizzing me about life in the Circle.”

“Just how many of these books have you read?” Cullen asked her.

“Oddly enough, Cullen,” Kate said, her voice turning quite lofty as she lifted her head. “There’s not very much to do in a Circle once classes are over. And when you’re a teenager, you get rather bored. And, well, curious.”

Curious? She surely didn’t mean…? Now it was Cullen’s turn to look away, blushing. The thought of a curious, teenage Kate made his mind go rather blank. He recalled only too well being a curious, teenage templar recruit. Only he had applied himself to study and training exercises, the better to stave off other impulses. But what had Kate done with her curiosity, he wondered?

An image rose unbidden in his mind: Kate, reading such stories, her cheeks as pink as they were now. And then, Kate, lying in a quiet bed in a quiet room, reaching her hands down into her quilts, drawing up the hem of her nightgown, sliding her fingers into secret places. In his mind, he saw her gasp into the night, her eyes closed, her expression one of ecstasy, the sheets twisted around her slender legs…

The alarm-bells of prudence rang in Cullen’s mind. With a start, he ripped himself away from the fantasy and came snapping back to the present.

“Don’t you think?” Kate asked him.

No, he didn’t think. Or at least, Cullen wasn’t thinking of anything he wanted to share. He couldn’t believe that fantasy had crept up on him out of nowhere. He now found himself in the cold, lightly dusted in snow, while a fully-clothed Kate stood before him with an argumentative expression upon her face. Cullen felt entirely disoriented.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Kate’s lips thinned. “I was saying that Plume’s stories are quite thrilling. You needn’t be such a snob about them.”

“A snob?” Cullen blinked at her. “Was I being a snob?”

“Well… no,” Kate admitted. “But most people are. Most people think romance novels are nothing but little bits of fluff and nonsense wrapped up in chapter-long sexual escapades.”

Cullen choked. The phrase ‘sexual escapades’ seemed to have gotten stuck in his throat.

“But the stories themselves are quite good,” Kate went on, “One can simply skip the sensual parts, if one finds them too salacious.”

Did Kate skip over the sensual parts, Cullen wondered? Or did she read them and enjoy them?

No, Cullen told himself sharply. With mysteries such as this, it was best not to ask.

“I wasn’t questioning the content of the books,” he said instead. “Nor your right to, um, enjoy them.”

“And what’s so wrong with romance anyhow?” Kate wanted to know, though Cullen suspected she was arguing with popular opinion now, and not Cullen himself. “Until today, the sky was torn open. We’ve had nothing but war all year. When the whole world reads like a horror novel, what do you expect people to pluck off the shelves? Stories of gloom? Histories where we all know how bad and blighted things became? Or wouldn’t you rather read something that makes you smile? Something that reminds you that the world is full of love and friendship and things worth fighting for?”

Cullen drew up short at that. Because when Kate was looking at him with such fire in her eyes, he found himself unable to speak. The tangled-up something in his chest suddenly began to ache.

“They’re wonderful stories,” Kate continued passionately. “And yet you don’t consider them ‘cultured reading.’”

“I don’t consider most popular books to be cultured reading,” Cullen returned. “Most of them aren’t,” he said, in reply to Kate’s short cry of indignation. “They’re formulaic to a fault. Oh come now, you know they are. Even those Plume novels fall prey to it. If the woman didn’t begin with the leading couple apart and bring them together by the end, her readers would riot in the streets.”

Kate opened her mouth to protest that, then tipped her head to one side. “Rioting, yes, but not in the streets. Plume’s readers would simply pen angry letters to her and demand a reprint. However, romances are not all the same. They’re not!” she insisted when Cullen gave her a skeptical look.

“Near enough,” Cullen said. “As soon as you pick one up you’re guaranteed a certain progression of events and a happy ending. Not much room for suspense when you know how everything will turn out in the end.”

“Well then, that’s life, isn’t it?” Kate shot back. “Every life reads roughly the same way: we’re born. Then someday, we die. It’s the bit in the middle that makes it interesting. That’s where the mystery is: the people you meet, how you live, how life changes you. So no, I don’t mind reading the same type of story over and over again, Cullen. Because in the end, those stories are the most real.”

“Romance novels are realistic?” Cullen asked her, raising a brow. “You honestly believe that?”

“Well, no. I just meant… Alright, there’s nothing realistic about the lovers, no.”

Cullen couldn’t tell if he was amused or somewhat saddened to hear her admit that.

“But even if they’re not very believable they still point to the most important things in life.”

“One of the things I find most important in life is clarity in communication,” Cullen informed her. “Proper words must be used to convey the proper meaning. And on that score, Plume’s prose simply will not do.”

“What?” Kate said.

“You know what I mean,” Cullen told her. “All those tense changes, the dropped commas and the completely out-of-character internal monologues. No self-respecting Avvar chieftain would ever act like that what’s-his-name did. The Avvar don’t think like that in their heads, much less speak like that to their tribes.”

Kate’s mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide.

“Wait a minute,” she said, holding up her bandaged hand. “You read it? You read ‘Chief and Challenger’?”

* * *

Kate stared as Cullen. He hadn’t actually _read_ it, had he?

“It was right there in the war room,” Cullen said, now sounding as defensive as Kate had a moment ago. “After spotting the plot summary in the Randy Dowager, I wanted to know how our mire plan compared to the original work. I figured that if you remembered the details of the plot after so many years, it must have been a very good book indeed.”

“I re-read ‘Chief and Challenger’ just last year,” Kate told him.

Cullen spluttered, and Kate waved aside his astonishment. “Oh, for the Maker’s sake,” she said. “I’ve re-read all of Plume’s novels half a dozen times. I already told you, I was bored in the Circle. But you read it? You? Yesterday after you found it?”

“I, um, yes.”

“But not all of it,” Kate pressed. “Just the opening part. And then you were disgusted by the writing style and you stopped. Right?”

Please let him have stopped, Kate thought.

“I, uh, took the liberty of finishing it,” Cullen said. “See a thing through. Give the book a fair shake and all that.”

“You read _all of it_?”

“I wouldn’t critique a book I hadn’t read, now would I?”

“Doesn’t stop plenty of other people from doing so,” Kate pointed out. “My word, Cullen. When did you find the time for that?”

“I sometimes have trouble sleeping,” Cullen said, stiffly. “I found it was just as well to pass the time with a book.”

“You stayed up all last night?” Kate’s jaw dropped open again. She couldn’t tell whether she should laugh, or simply faint from mortification. Cullen had read that novel. The _entire_ novel. That meant he’d read the parts where…

“Sweet Andraste save me,” Kate murmured.

“That’s was my reaction as well,” Cullen said, his voice sounding a bit strangled. “But, um, no. To answer your question. Yes, I did read it. All of it. I read quickly, and it wasn’t terribly difficult to follow. I was done around midnight. So yes, I did read it, and thus I think it’s fair to say there were problems with Plume’s writing. Now true, I haven’t read all her collected works…”

“Oh, please don’t,” Kate begged.

“At any rate,” Cullen said, his voice taking on his usual, more precise tones, “If that one novel may be taken as an accurate sample of her offerings, I must say the writing style could use some work. I see how you might like the, um, story…”

Kate gave a small groan.

”…but the way in which it is delivered nearly ruined the narrative. Sentence fragments everywhere - utterly drove me to distraction. The opening lines were the worst: ‘He was a he,’ and all that.”

“That’s not a sentence fragment,” Kate pointed out. “A tautology, perhaps, but not a fragment.”

“No, but what followed after was all chopped to bits. Oh, how did Plume put it? Something like: ‘He was a He. Looking for a Her. Looking for the True Her - the only Her he would ever need.’ - I mean, really. Not a paragraph in and she’s missing two complete sentences out of three.”

“It got better,” Kate muttered.

“Now, I gather that Plume was trying to hint at some fated connection between the leads,” Cullen went on, “but if so, the lover’s interactions completely failed to prove Plume’s point. The challenger had more of a connection with the handmaiden assigned to her. Seeing as how that woman was always listening to her talk and bathing her - er, well…” He cleared his throat. “Anyhow, the battle scenes were alright - some truly first-rate action there. You can see Plume did her research for those sections at least, but all the good fighting bits were interspersed with so much nonsense that it was hard to enjoy them.”

Kate had been watching Cullen with appraising look, which now warmed into a delighted smile.

“You liked it,” she accused.

“What? I most certainly did not.”

“Oh really?” Kate asked, feeling almost giddy in her amusement. “Because you have awfully strong opinions about this poorly-written prose that you stayed up until midnight to finish.”

“Yes, well,” Cullen blustered and turned away, “I have strong opinions about everything.”

“I know,” Kate grinned. “That’s why I like you so much.”

_Wait. What?_

Kate froze, her smile turning rather sickly in her shock.

_What did I just say?_

“I, uh…” Cullen looked just as startled as Kate did. “What was that?”

_Good question._

“Just that it’s one of the things I like about you,” Kate said quickly, backtracking at once. “That you have strong opinions, I mean. It’s a good quality to have. Opinions. Strong ones. Opinions in general. And strength, too. You’re very, um, strong…”

And now she was descending into babbling, Kate thought. She flashed Cullen a brittle smile.

“Opinions are good,” she told him. She forced herself to stop there.

“Ah,” Cullen said, his brows drawing together. “Sorry, I thought you said… Nothing. Never mind.”

 _Oh, I did, Cullen,_ Kate thought. She most definitely did say something more than that. But she wasn’t about to admit it. Right now, one part of her mind was holding desperately to reason and rationality and the other part was descending into a completely unreasonable panic.

 _Oh, no, no, no, no, no_ , wailed the panicky part of Kate. She liked Cullen. She _liked_ Cullen. This was a terrible development. This…

But then the more rational part of Kate’s mind swooped in to control the damage.

This really wasn’t that bad, the reasoning part informed the hysterical part. Alright, so she liked Cullen. That shouldn’t come as a great shock. These feelings had been creeping up on her for a while now, and Kate had simply succumbed to the fever. Consider it a sort of infatuational flu, the reasoning part said soothingly. Kate would probably endure some discomfort for a while: awkward stuttering in Cullen’s presence and foolish heart-thumping whenever the man walked by. But give it a few weeks, a month or so at the most, and she ought to get over this illness. Then she’d build up an immunity to Cullen and regard him as nothing more than a colleague once more. That would be the end of that.

 _Oh really_? the hysterical part of her brain shot back sarcastically. Since when had Kate ever managed to corral her feelings simply by wishing? And the worst thing was - the absolute _worst_ thing - was that Cullen clearly didn’t like Kate in the same way she liked him. He was kind to her, certainly, but in a gruff, overworked, sleep-deprived commanderly sort of way. Kate could never hope to be anything more to him than an under-qualified civilian set in the midst of his military campaign. She could never hope to impress him, to make him like her. She was a mage, for the Maker’s sake! He had been a templar. He would never think of her in that way. And so, Maker help her, this was going to be awful, that panicking part cried. At worst, Kate was going to betray her feelings and make things very awkward for everyone. At best, she’d manage to hide her fancy, suffering a simmering awareness of Cullen from now until Maker only knew when.

And what was so awful about hiding her feelings, Kate’s rational mind had to ask? She’d learned quite well how to hide her feelings over the course of her aristocratic life. This wouldn’t be a difficult secret to conceal. And really, concealment seemed the most logical course of action, given the circumstances. Kate had endured fancies before - even heartaches - and she’d survived. So what if Cullen did not return her feelings? Kate didn’t expect him to. He was a commander, and did not think of his fellow officers that way. That was to his credit. If he’d been sniffing around a mage and flirting outrageously, she would have been leery of him from the start.

Furthermore, Kate reasoned - and her hysterical mind seemed to calm a little at the thought - furthermore, the fact that Kate liked Cullen showed a certain improvement in her judgments about men. Cullen wasn’t just handsome, but kind. Kate liked him for good reasons, not just superficial ones. Kate liked his passionate defense of good grammar, for a start. She liked that he read Chantry history for fun. She liked the way he’d read an entire romance novel in one sitting and even enjoyed it. But most of all, Kate liked that she could trust Cullen, that he’d treated her with respect.

And now that Kate thought of it, she even liked the way Cullen argued with her, and sometimes gave her that look that said she’d confused him. It proved that Cullen was a real person with real ideas and opinions of his own. He was not some figment of her romance-novel-saturated imagination, but her friend.

 _Friend_ , Kate thought, and both the rational and emotional parts of her mind contemplated the word. Well, yes, Cullen was her friend, wasn’t he? After these past few months and a number of battles together, she supposed he must be. And that made Kate feel a great deal better about liking Cullen. Friends were supposed to like each other, after all. And if Cullen meant far more to Kate than she did to him, well that was alright. She needn’t reveal her true feelings. In fact, Kate decided, she needn’t even think on this ever again.

So Kate resolved _not_ to think about how much she liked Cullen. She also resolved not to think about what a romantic scene Haven made just now, what with the moon rising silvery behind the clouds and all the fires in the distance. Beside Kate, Cullen stood stiffly, his arms folded over his chest. Kate mimicked his stance, her fingers stuffed in her armpits for warmth.

Then, by degrees, Kate noticed something. Her eyes had gone rather unfocused as she’d been thinking, and she thought she saw more lights than before. Kate blinked.

She did see more lights. Small lights, and many of them. Curiously, they were not up in the sky, but down on the horizon - in the east.

That couldn’t be right, Kate thought. It couldn’t be later than supper time. The dawn was still a long way off.

“Cullen,” she said. Do you see…?”

“Yes,” he said, stiffening at once. “Torches.”

Cullen reached for his sword, and just like that, Kate came crashing back to the present moment. All thought of fantasy was gone now.

Then, loudly, the Chantry bells started clanging the alarm.

“What in the Maker’s name…?”

“Come on,” Cullen said to her. He stepped off the embankment before them, headed for the village gates. Kate chased after him. The firelight now seemed redder, and cast sinister shadows all through the town. Songs of revelry gave way to shouts of alarm all about them. Kate called out above the chaos:

“Calm down, everyone. Calm down and prepare yourself for further orders.”

“They appeared out of nowhere, your worship,” a scout said, running up to them and addressing Kate instead of Cullen. “A whole bunch of them.”

“Who are they?” Kate wanted to know.

“They must have climbed the cliffs,” a voice said at Kate’s elbow. It was Leliana, now striding up behind them.

“Are they more refugees?” Kate asked. One could hope right?

“Refugees don’t march in formation,” Cullen said.

Then they were dealing with a hostile force. Maker help them.

“Apostates from the Hinterlands?” she suggested. “The last of the Tevinter cultists?”

“We can’t tell at this distance,” Leliana answered. “They’re gathering as if they’re ready to charge across the lake, though.”

“Not mages then,” Cullen said, frowning. “They’d hit us from afar. Spread out to maximize their bombardment.”

Kate didn’t like the sound of bombardment, but at least with mages, she knew how to raise a spell-shield. But against an army…

Whose army, she wondered absently?

“Right,” Kate said tightly, as they reached the village wall. “Bar the gates. Archers up on the ramparts. Soldiers behind. Mages among them. Everyone else to the Chantry.”

She shouted all this loudly, and heard her orders echoed back into the ranks. Why she’d spoken as if she was in charge of this mess, Kate had no idea. She was even more confused when everyone had deferred to her commands. Probably because Cullen was standing right beside her and hadn’t contradicted her, Kate thought. But that was surely the least strange part of this night.

Cullen drew his sword and Kate readied her staff as Bull had taught her to. Some day this was shaping up to be, Kate thought absently. From closing the breach to a celebration, and from celebration to battle. Yet, it was strangely fitting. Her recent life had been nothing but chaos followed by tentative victory followed by chaos. Hopefully this chaos would be over quickly, and they could get back to the wine and cakes.

“People approachin’!” an archer on the walls called.

“A messenger come to parlay, no doubt,” Leliana said.

“Or the vanguard,” Cullen muttered.

“Maybe we can reason with them?” Kate asked hopefully.

Up on the walls, another archer cried: “Halt! Who goes there!”

With that, the strange night grew even stranger. For the voice that answered that hail was as familiar to Kate as her own childhood, and carried all the same memories:

”‘Who goes there’?” a clipped, Ostwick accent called back. “Who actually says that? I mean, really. No, no! Don’t shoot. I’m not with them over the lake. We tried to get here as fast as we could, but that’s a bloody long climb…. Oh, for the Maker’s sake! Stop pointing that thing at me. Look, see? This is Ser Barris, er, Devlin Barris. Darrin Barris. Duh…something. Maker, he’s done in. And this is Cole… Oh, bugger it all, you can’t see Cole. Never mind him. Look, I’m here to bring you the most last-minute warning in the history of last minute warnings. Those are crazy - I mean completely crazy bastards over there. They’re about to attack you. Fairly obvious at this point, I should say. Oh, and I’m Robert Trevelyan, Katie’s cousin. You know, your Andraste-herald-priestess or whatever? Katie. I’m with her. So let me in already!”

“Robert?” Kate cried. She realized she wasn’t the only one who’d said that. Cassandra stood beside Kate, having also said that name. The Seeker looked just as amazed and delighted as Kate felt - maybe even more so.

“Let him in!” Cassandra shouted a moment later. “Let. Him. In!”


	38. Breaking Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our reunited heroes launch a curious defense

It had been two months since Cassandra last laid eyes on Robert Trevelyan. For two months, his memory had stood in her mind as a symbol of grief and loss. Then for the last week, Cassandra had been nearly frantic to seek Robert out, to find out if there was anything to the rumors that he might be alive.

And now, as Robert stood at the gates, Cassandra found she could not wait another second to have the man back within the walls of Haven. She sheathed her sword and ran forward to help the guards pull the heavy gates open.

At the top of the stairs stood Kate and Cullen, with a host of soldiers and mages behind them. They watched anxiously as the gates groaned open. A moment later, Robert stumbled through. Cassandra, now half-hidden behind the door, scarcely recognized him at first. Limping beside him came another man, dark complexioned and heavily armored. For a moment, Cassandra even thought there was a third person with Robert as well.

“Hullo Katie,” Robert croaked, as he looked up and laid eyes upon his cousin. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Robert!” Katerina cried in return, and she ran to him. Cassandra let out a breath she did not realize she’d been holding. But before the cousins could embrace, the armored man at Robert’s side fell, pitching face-first into the snow.

“Oh my!” Katerina cried, stopping short and dropping to her knees. “Is he all right?”

“Not really,” Robert replied. Rather than kneeling himself, he simply bent at the waist and placed his hands on his thighs, as if he were a runner at the end of a race.

“We need a healer!” Katerina shouted into the crowd. Her cry was nearly drowned out by the shouts of Cullen, who was directing his troops into place:

“Everyone into formation!” he called into the crowd. “No, I know we didn’t practice for this. Just get with your unit and await further orders. Hurry now!”

Armored soldiers and robed mages ran for the gates, blocking Cassandra’s way. Archers clambered up on boxes or platforms or whatever else gave them a clear view of the valley beyond the walls. Through the noise of boots crunching and armor clanking, Cassandra heard a loud, distinctive, and slightly slurred voice, shout:

“Oi! Healer! Right here! I’m right here.”

With that, the Dalish elf, Colleen, came half-swaggering, half-stumbling out of the crowd with a bottle of wine in her hand. She dropped to her knees beside Katerina, and stumped her bottle down beside her. Cullen glared at the bottle, then at the elf.

“Have you been drinking?” he demanded.

”‘Course I have,” the elf replied, as she gathered light in her palms. “It’s Satinalia and I ain’t a dry shite like you. Don’ give me that look, lad. I’m Dalish. I could heal ‘im plastered, but as it is, I’m scarce scuttered. Hey there, Robbie-boy!” she added, with a wave in Trevelyan’s direction. “Good teh see yeh. What a time fer an attack, eh?”

“What a time,” Robert agreed.

At Robert’s feet, Katerina must have decided that the injured Barris was in safe, if slightly tipsy, hands. Katerina stood and threw her arms around her cousin. Robert immediately wrapped his arms around Katerina and held her close. Cullen looked on with a strange expression. Cassandra found herself similarly frozen by the gate.

She did not want to intrude in this family reunion, Cassandra thought. But more than that, she did not know quite how to greet Robert after all this time. There had been a change in him, that much was clear. He was still very handsome. In fact, he was more handsome than Cassandra had remembered. But Robert was no longer had the air of a cheerful charmer. His dirty, bloodstained clothes hung on of his tall frame, and his eyes had a wild look to them. The first time they had met, Cassandra had compared him to a carefree pirate. Now, he seemed wolfish. This did not make him unattractive, however. Cassandra decided it made him even more appealing than before.

“By the Void, Katie,” Robert said, holding his cousin close. “It’s good to see you. I thought you were dead. I thought I was dead. So many times I might have died…”

“I feel the exact same way,” Kate said, and her eyes were shining with tears. “I thought… But I can’t…” She shook her head, and waved a hand as if trying to force the words past a lump in her throat. “We’re under attack,” she managed a moment later. “We should probably live through that, then talk.” She offered her cousin a watery smile.

“If we _do_ live through that,” Robert said, and when he looked out at the lights, his expression was again haunted. “Damn templars.”

“Templars?” Cullen exclaimed. “Those are templars out there?” The commander’s eyes flashed with fear and fury, even as the lines of his face hardened like stone. At the commander’s feet, the Dalish elf shouted out:

“Oi! Someone get me a vial of lyrium. Not that I _want_ teh feed the stuff to the lad, but if I’m teh revive ‘im… Ah, thank yeh, Lysette.” She stopped her hollering as a female templar hurried to her side.

“Are the templars trying to punish us for aiding the mage rebellion?” Kate asked, ignoring Coll and her patient. “Robert, did they say why they’re attacking?”

“I never got a straight answer out of anyone,” her cousin replied. “Freddy went all red, you see.” As Robert spoke, he craned his neck this way and that as searching for someone in the crowds.

“Freddy?” Kate repeated. But before Robert could explain, a commotion broke out at their feet.

“Oi, oi, oi!” Coll shouted. “Ease up, boyo! You’ve been off that shite for too long to pour it in yer face like that.”

She snatched the vial away from Barris’ grip, for the templar had come to quite suddenly. There was a wildness in his eyes as he lunged for the draught, but in his weakened state, and with both Colleen and Lysette to restrain him, he could do little more than glare.

“Don’t give me that look, templar,” Colleen snapped at him. “I’m savin’ yer life by cuttin’ yeh short. Drink all this and it’ll send yeh inta shock, it will. Lysette, get ‘im into the Chantry. He’ll be no use in a fight.”

“We should send your cousin to the Chantry as well,” Cullen murmured to Kate. “He looks a bit distracted.”

It was true, too. All this while, Robert continued to look about him, as if oblivious to the preparations for battle. But then, quite suddenly, he turned his eyes in Cassandra’s direction.

In that moment, Robert’s entire demeanor changed. His gaze locked on Cassandra’s face, focused and intent as an arrow pointed at a target. He let go of Kate at once, striding toward Cassandra with those long legs of his. Cassandra, for her part, was so startled that she did nothing as he advanced upon her. He was so much bigger than she remembered, so much broader, moved so much more smoothly…

“T-trevelyan,” Cassandra stammered as Robert closed in. “Good to see you…Ooof!”

Robert dragged Cassandra into his arms and pulled her flush against his chest. His tall, rangy body enveloped hers: his arms around her shoulders, his chin rested on top of her head. He smelled of woodsmoke and cedar and sweat. For a moment, all Cassandra could do was try to catch her breath, and allow her heart to thunder away madly in her chest. She felt too embarrassed to wrap her arms around him in return, but was too delighted to pull away.

Delighted? Certainly not. And yet she stood stock still, squashed up against Robert’s chest as he murmured:

“Cassie,” he said. “My sweet, sweet Cassie.” His voice so low that it seemed to reverberate right through her, all the way down her spine and into her belly.

“Cassie?” That was Colleen’s voice, and the blasted elf sounded ready to laugh. “Did he just call the Seeker ‘Cassie’?”

“I thought I’d lost you,” Robert whispered hoarsely, his breath warm and close by Cassandra’s ear. “I thought… Oh, Maker be praised. You’re alright.”

And then gently - so very gently - Robert kissed the top of Cassandra’s head. It seemed to send a frisson of electricity right through her. She felt she might melt into a puddle in the snow. From somewhere beyond the circle of Robert’s arms, Cassandra heard Cullen say:

“I take back what I said about those novels, Kate. Here I thought they were unrealistic, but I evidently don’t know the same kind of people that you do.”

“Believe me,” she replied, “this is a side of Robert I’ve never seen.”

Before Cassandra could process that statement, Robert pulled back, held Cassandra at arm’s length, and studied her face for a moment, as if trying to memorize it. The gold of his eyes was so intense, Cassandra felt she was looking into twin suns.

“I will not leave you again like that,” Robert told her. “I promise you, Cassie. I only wish I had something to show you how much I… Oh, Maker bless you Cole, you wonderful, weird little boy. I’ll pay you back for this, I swear it.”

And with that, Robert plucked a rose out of thin air.

Cassandra mouth dropped open on a gasp. For a moment, she forgot all about the crowd around them, even forgot about the imminent attack. All she saw was that single, perfect rose: red as blood, fresh as early spring.

“How did you…?” Cassandra gaped. But then she looked up at Robert, and found herself captivated once again. His expression was one of utter devotion - a sight even more perfect than that rose itself.

“By Dirthaman’s great swingin’ cock!,” Colleen roared with laughter. “Now there’s a boy what knows his way around a bedroll! We could all take lessons in seduction from him, eh commander?” The elf elbowed Cullen in the ribs.

Cassandra felt as if she’d been warmed by a gentle breeze, only to have cold water splashed over her. Cassandra became painfully aware that she was being made into a spectacle. And all the troops were watching.

Yet, when Cassandra opened her mouth to deliver a sharp reprimand, her harsh words died in her throat. Robert was staring at her with hope in his eyes. More than that, he was _alive_. And he had brought her a rose. This beautiful, unexpected man had offered Cassandra a beautiful, unexpected gift. She couldn’t find it in her heart to reject him, but neither did she know how to accept. So Cassandra just stood there, silent and stunned and staring at that single blood-red rose.

* * *

Robert knew he was making a great fool of himself. He just didn’t much care.

Living for two months on the knife’s edge of death had entirely changed Robert’s perspective. In the past, he had never allowed himself or get too attached to anything or anyone. This might have had something to do with the fact that Robert was always being left behind. Now, however, Robert felt like rushing on ahead. Seeing Cassandra again was like looking down from a hot, rocky cliff side into deep, cool water. Robert intended to take the leap, and damn the consequences.

However, Cassandra seemed a bit uncertain about Robert’s return. Perhaps it was the army at the gates that had her distracted, Robert thought. After all, the last time they’d fought together, they’d ended up separated for months.

“I _won’t_ be leaving your side again,” Robert promised Cassandra, as he pressed the rose into her gloved hand. “This time, we are not splitting up. Do you hear me?”

Cassandra gazed at him for just a moment, then her fingers closed around the stem and she nodded firmly.

“Yes,” she said. “I don’t know about the rest of it. But yes. We must fight together.” She looked so warrior-like in that moment that Robert was tempted to kiss her. “What is our plan?”

“Um, well…”

But Robert then realized that Cassandra had not addressed this question to him. Instead, she had looked right past Robert and spoke to _Kate_ , of all people.

That was odd. So far as Robert knew, Kate had as much experience in battle as she did with travel - which was to say, none at all. But Kate looked thoughtful all the same, staring up into empty space as if rummaging through her unfathomable brain for ideas. And it seemed that Cassandra was not the only one looking to Kate for answers.

“Your worship? Ser?” a voice called from up on the gates. “They’re settlin’ down just beyond firin’ range.”

This bit of information was addressed to both Kate and that blonde man who stood beside her. The fellow was tallish, though not as tall as Robert, and wore fussy-looking armor and a dark expression.

“They’re doing just as they’re trained to do,” the man said, his voice low and angry. “They’ll wait until they have all their people in place, then rush us in waves. And to think, I might have been the one to train them how to do it.”

Oh-ho, Robert thought, distantly. So this fellow had once been a templar? It seemed the Inquisition took in all types. Funny that Katie wasn’t nervous around the man, though. Robert knew she found templars vastly unnerving. But far from being cowed by the man, Kate turned to the man with a look of… pity?

“I’m sorry this fight came to us, Cullen,” she said, her voice now low and urgent, “But we’re going to need your insight to survive the night. What more can we do to against those templars?”

The man named Cullen shook himself, and his eyes refocused on a spot beyond the gates.

“We have trebuchets,” he said.

If the man thought this information would come as a comfort, he had judged wrongly. Kate gave the commander a doubtful look, while Coll snorted so hard that wine came out of her nose.

“I thought trebuchets were for taking castles,” Kate said, absently whacking Coll on the back as the elf spluttered. “Will they work against a legion of foot soldiers?”

“They would extend our range to where the templars are gathering,” Cullen pointed out. “What’s more, they won’t be expecting it.”

“Ask me arse!” Coll cried, wiping the wine from her face with the back of her tattooed hand. “‘Course they won’t expect it! ‘Cause it’s a header, that plan is. Usin’ them toys what you and Morris built? Tha’s like throwin’ rocks at a flock o’ sparrows and hopin’ yeh hit one. More like, those buggers’ll turn the things against us and flatten the town!”

“Do you have a better idea, elf?” Cassandra snapped. Robert placed his hand upon Cassandra’s back, in an unthinking, soothing gesture. To his surprise, Cassandra didn’t turn and glare at Robert. She may have even leaned into his hand a little.

“Bollocks,” Coll replied solemnly, tilting the neck of her wine bottle at Cassandra in a mock toast. “That’s me idea.”

“Coll, please,” Kate said.

”‘Sides,” Coll persisted, ignoring Kate entirely, “Only two of yer trebber-things work. For sure, didn’t I hear yer Rylan sayin’ that Morris jacked up the northwest one? Set it aimin’ the wrong way.”

Coll pointed her wine-bottle to her left, then arced the bottle overhead to indicate the mountains behind them. Cullen grimaced at her gesture and looked like he wanted to use swear words. To Robert’s surprise however, the man didn’t.

“I keep telling him to let me do the calibrations,” he muttered instead.

“What do you think Katerina?” Cassandra asked Kate, deliberately ignoring the elf. “Should we use the trebuchets?”

Cullen also turned to Kate with a sharp look. “This is your call, Herald,” he said.

Why was the use of siege weaponry _Kate’s_ call, Robert wanted to know? Much as he loved his cousin, he didn’t entirely trust her judgment in matters relating to battle. Robert more trusted the opinion of this heavily-armored man who apparently built siege machinery for fun. But Kate was silent for a moment, then nodded.

“Do it,” she said.

“You heard the Herald!” Cullen shouted, and Robert realized that, indeed, the surrounding crowd had been listening intently to this discussion. “Ballistics units one and two, hurry to the eastern trebuchets and fire at will. Get in as many flights as you can.”

“Send mages with them,” Kate said, tapping him on his furred shoulder. “To help with loading rocks into the um, hanging… bag things.” Kate cupped her hand in what would have, under other circumstances, been a rather lewd gesture. Cullen looked startled for a moment, then nodded as comprehension dawned.

“Right,” he said. “Yes, that will vastly speed up… Yes. Mages!” he shouted, turning to the crowd. “I need mages to help load the slings. Earth-shakers, preferably. One with each trebuchet! Anyone?”

“Here ser!” A few robed volunteers came forward, and Kate paused to talk to them. Cullen stopped to answer a shouted question from one of the lieutenants on the walls and Coll took another pull of wine from her bottle.

“Sure, this is gonna be a show, and make no mistake,” the elf said.

“Maker speed you!” Kate cried to the earth-mages. They nodded and ran off through the gates, their long robes flapping behind them.

“I certainly hope this works,” Cullen said, frowning after the mages.

“Hope in Haven, help in Haven, Herald in Haven,” Cole murmured softly at Robert’s side. “He stands on the hillside and the town looks small from there. So easy to crush. So easy to snuff her light out.”

“No one’s crushing us,” Cullen said sharply to the lad, while Kate turned to Cole and said, “Maybe you should go to the Chantry. The other apprentices are waiting there, if you want to join them.”

“I want to help,” Cole told her.

“Alright then,” Kate said, while Cullen muttered. “So long as he can keep up.”

“Wait,” Robert said, completely taken aback. “You two can see Cole?”

“Oh,” Cassandra said, peering around at the boy. “So there _was_ a second person who arrived with you.”

“You can see him, too?” he asked Cassandra.

“What now?” Colleen asked, looking up from her bottle with a blank expression.

“Ah, thank you, Coll,” Robert nodded at her gratefully. “Makes me feel more sane when at least one of you can’t see him.”

“Oh, you mean the half-spirit, half-boy tag-along?” the elf asked. “‘Course I can see him.”

“Half-what?” Cullen tensed.

“He’s a good sort,” Robert explained, quickly. “Never tries to possess anyone or anything like that. Sometimes I even think he might be a real boy. Funny how all of you can see him, though.”

“Pain pierces,” Cole said, his voice soft. “Breaks down doors. Makes some crueler, makes some kinder. Kate found laughter under waves of sorrow, but Cullen took the longest route to kindness.”

Kate went very still, and the commander’s brows drew together at this pronouncement.

“It makes you angry,” Cole added, gazing at Cullen sympathetically. “It makes you feel ashamed. The templars were supposed to stand for something. _You_ were supposed to stand for something. But if all the templars train to follow, who trains them to lead?”

“Maker’s breath, the boy sounds like you, Kate,” Cullen muttered, flushing and looking away.

“I’m sure I don’t…” Kate began, but just then, there were a great creaking and wooshing sound. Everyone looked up as a streak of fire arced out into the night.

“An’ there we be,” Coll said. “First shot fired, and we’ll be rushed any minute now. ‘Twas nice knowin’ ye.”

Far out beyond the gates, the blast fell down upon the torches, making a little hole of shadow where fire had been a moment before.

“Sweet Andraste,” Kate said in amazement. “They didn’t move. Even as fire came raining down on them, they…” She shook her head and turned to Cullen.

“They didn’t even move,” she said.

“They’re disciplined,” Cullen said, grimly. “They’ll hold rank even when…” He then blinked, and suddenly jerked his head upward, studying the mountains. “Wait…”

“Stone hearts, stone eyes, stone minds and veins,” Cole murmured. “They can’t feel for the change in them.”

 _Stone_ , Robert thought suddenly. That was right. These templars were more solid because of their recent diet, weren’t’ they? And had he told Kate about that change or not? Between his climb and exhaustion and the relief of reuniting with Cassandra, Robert couldn’t entirely remember. Well, he thought, best to tell them twice rather than not at all.

“So look,” Robert began. “I don’t mean to be the bearer of further bad news, but those templars…”

“An avalanche,” Cullen said, cutting Robert off.

This was such a non-sequitur that Robert could do nothing but stare at the man. Cassandra, too, looked a bit confused. But Kate gave a gasp of delight.

“Right!” she cried, her eyes wide with hope. “Just like in ‘Snow Falling on Emprise!’ Oh, Cullen, you’re a genius.”

“I was referencing ‘Decisive Battles of Southern Orlais,’ not a Plume novel,” the man replied, though he looked pleased by her praise.

“Plume didn’t write… Oh, never mind,” Kate said. “Will it work? We use a trebuchet to fling a rock at the mountainside and trigger an avalanche. That will flatten the templars in the valley and we can take any survivors in open combat.”

“I likes that,” Coll said, tipping her bottle at Cullen in approval. “I do likes that. Better than me plan o’ bollocks.”

“Yes, and about those templars,” Robert tried again. “They’re _red_.”

But no one was listening.

“The challenge is,” Cullen said, speaking to Kate. “We need to aim the trebuchet precisely. The northeast one would work best. It’s closest to the mountains.”

“Then let’s go!” Kate cried. “Quick, before they charge… Oh dear.”

Beyond the lake, the torches had begun to shift and flow. A mass of light broke off from the main bulk of fire and began to advance toward Haven.

“Fenharel feck ‘em, but they’re movin’ fast,” Coll said.

“That’s just the advance guard, testing our defenses,” Cullen said.

“Then we’d better make that avalanche happen as quickly as possible,” Kate said. “Come on, Cullen. I’ll cover you.”

“What?” the man blinked.

“Well _I_ certainly don’t know how to calibrate a trebuchet,” Kate told him. “The northeast one, you said?”

“I… Yes. Northeast.” Cullen nodded.

“Leliana!” Kate shouted up to a hooded woman on the walls. “You have command of the gates. Keep the doors open until we get back, and Maker watch over you.”

“Maker watch over us all,” the woman shouted back. “Alright then,” Leliana cried out. “You heard the Herald. All mages and soldiers, hold the gates! Keep them open, but don’t let hostiles through!”

With this, Kate whirled her staff to guard in a way Robert found most impressive, if also rather alarming. That thing had a blunt end to it, which had come perilously close to Robert’s face. Cullen drew his sword, and together, they went racing out into the night.

“But Kate!” Robert shouted. “The templars… Hang it all.”

That was, Robert reflected, the most un-Kate-like thing he’d ever seen his cousin do. Also, if Robert wasn’t mistaken, that was Sister Nightingale up there, holding the gates. Katie had been bossing around the Left Hand of the Divine just now.

This was all madness, Robert thought. This entire night was crazy and wild and desperate all at once. Take this plan of Cullen’s, for example. It sounded like a child trying to stop a group of bandits with a sling shot. Even if they managed to hit a mountain with a flying rock, would that actually cause an avalanche? And even if it did, would it really take out the templars, or would all that snow go sluffing off the mountains in some completely unpredictable way? Furthermore, Robert thought wildly, none of them understood that those were _red_ templars out there.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Cole said, softly. “They’ll see for themselves soon enough.”

Yes, Robert thought. And that was what he was afraid of. He had just escaped these monsters. He had no wish to face them again.

“But you must,” Cole told Robert.

“Arrows, ser?” someone said, handing Robert a quiver. Robert took it, not bothering to ask who had thought to supply him with missiles. He also did not bother to argue with Cole. Right now, this night felt like a dream - a dream where Robert was just one step ahead of things turning into a nightmare.

“They need help,” Cole said, sounding far more peaceful about the situation than anyone had a right to be. “I’m going to help,” he added, and then he drew his dual knives out of nowhere and ran after Kate.

“Alright then,” Coll said, letting her bottle of wine drop heavily to the ground. “Can’t let a spirit show me up. Better follow me eejit friend Kate and keep her alive.”

“You wish to fight while you’re drunk?” Cassandra wanted to know. “That is not wise.”

“Sure, but I’ll sober up real quick,” Coll replied. “See this elfroot here?” She drew a small vial from her pocket. “‘Tis my own concoction. Takes the brown clean outta yeh, but it’s like wakin’ up the day after.”

“Wait,” Robert said, frowning at her. “You’re planning to fight hung over?” In his opinion, that sounded even stupider than fighting drunk.

“Bottoms up,” Coll said, holding the vial up in mock toast. She downed it all in one gulp, then made a face as if she’d licked the bottom of a garderobe.

“YEAaaggh!” Coll cried. “That’s mouldly rank as scutters, that is! And now I’m gone straight crippled with the fear. Feck me,” she gasped, leaning heavily on her staff. “This weren’t how this night was supposed to go. ‘Twas supposed to be me, sittin’ at the fire, enjoying an Antivan red. ‘Twas supposed to be that my boy Krem got offa guard duty and came teh ask me teh dance. But I got no dancin’, now did I?”

Coll raised her head. Her bloodshot eyes filled with rage.

“I got no dancin’,” she growled. “I got two heads on me. And now some templars are teh _die_ fer it.”

She staggered off after Kate.

“I do believe that elf is slightly mad,” Cassandra observed.

“Templars within range!” the archer on the wall shouted.

“Fire!” Leliana shouted. And as arrows sang out into the dark, Robert felt a sudden, terrible realization hit him. Haven, it seemed, was no haven at all. He’d come all this way just to die.

Without thinking, Robert reached out his hand and took the Seeker’s hand in his own. She tensed, but then, to Robert’s surprise and delight, she interlaced her gloved fingers with his and squeezed his hand. In her other hand, Cassandra still held the rose. Robert felt his heart expand even as fear made his insides cold as ice. It was an intense, dizzying sort of feeling.

“I imagine you wish you’d picked a better time to return,” Cassandra said, her voice wavering slightly.

“Not at all,” Robert replied, gazing down at her.

Cassandra’s cheeks went slightly red, and she turned her head away. “We don’t have time for this,” she said, pulling her hand away. “We need to fight. Walls or battlefield?”

And right then, with torches closing in and cries of alarm all around, Robert felt there was no place he would rather be than here at the Haven gates, with Cassandra Pentaghast at his side.

“You beautiful, stunning woman,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could think to check them. “I thought of your face every day - every night…”

“Maker’s breath,” Cassandra grumbled, tucking the rose into her belt and drawing her sword. “Are we going to fight for our lives, Robert Trevelyan, or are you going to spout poetry to me?”

Even though he very well might die within the hour, Robert could not help but laugh.

“I could do both, Cassandra,” he told her, knocking an arrow to his bow and following her out of the gates into the darkness. “If you’d like, I could do both.”

* * *

As Cullen ran, his mind raced over thoughts of trebuchets and avalanches and the exact trajectory he would need to hit the mountain correctly the first time. Considering that Cullen had spent the past week instructing his troops _not_ to hit the nearby slopes by accident, he believed he knew the math well enough. This ought to be a simple matter of turning the machine to the left and setting it for maximum distance. At least, Cullen hoped so. Otherwise, he would spend the rest of the night fighting templars - possibly facing down the very men and women that he had trained himself.

There had to be some kind of divine punishment in that, Cullen thought, darkly.

Never mind that, Cullen told himself. He would do what he had to. Right now, he needed to focus on the task at hand. As he and Kate rushed past the south-east trebuchet, the one just outside the gates, Cullen heard one of his soldiers yell:

“Ser! Worship! Further orders?”

“Keep firing,” Cullen shouted back.

“And don’t let the enemy take the siege engines,” Kate added.

“Yes, ser!” came the reply. Cullen turned forward again, racing past the smithy as Kate struggled to keep up with him. For one quick moment, Cullen slowed his pace and looked over at her.

In the darkness, the mark was flickering slightly, casting green light on Kate’s face. Her brows were set in an expression of determination, just as they had been this afternoon when she had faced down the breach itself. This time, Cullen wasn’t even remotely startled when the the tangled something in his chest tightened. In fact, the sensation felt quite appropriate just then.

A moment later, they rounded the corner to where the northeastern trebuchet stood. The crew was frantically backing away, the beam straining under the weight of a large payload, which had already been lit on fire.

“Wait!” Kate cried. “We need to aim for…”

But it was too late. The soldier at the trigger pushed down on the lever, and a flaming rock flung out into the night. It arced like a low-flying falling star, then fell heavily onto the icy lake. There was a BOOM and a crack and a splash, then a scream as a line of torches disappeared quite suddenly.

“Well, that works, too,” Kate mused, cocking her head to the side.

“It will be easier to turn the machine now that it’s empty,” Cullen told her. “You there!” he shouted, striding up to the machine. “We need to turn the trebuchet before the next volley.”

“Ser!” the lieutenant on duty cried in surprise. “Your worship! What…”

“Change of plans,” Cullen told him sharply. “Set the trebuchet aiming north by northeast. Twenty degrees by the compass. Hurry!”

“But ser…” the lieutenant blinked. “That would fire it right into the hill there.”

“That’s the idea,” Cullen said, striding to the front of the machine. “Come now! This direction.”

With this he directed the soldiers take the wedges out from under the wheels, then to push the great machine back a few feet. The great machine creaked and groaned all the while, drowning out the grunts of the soldiers pushing it. Then then pushed the thing forward again, angling the thing toward the mountains and re-setting the wedge-shaped brakes. It was not unlike backing up and re-parking a great, oversized cart in the pitch darkness, Cullen thought. Even with every soldier pushing, it took them a few minutes to manage it.

“That took longer than I thought,” Kate said, wiping her brow, and Cullen was surprised to find she had helped as well. “Oh, Maker,” she added, pointing back toward the gates. “The templars reached the other trebuchet.”

“Hopefully they can hold it,” Cullen said grimly. “You there! Guard the path. And you three! Turn that wheel and help me reset the beam. Someone else get up here and help me with this wheel. Maker’s breath! Have we got any light around here? I can hardly see.”

“Sure, the templars will bring more torches soon enough,” a voice hollered crankily. Coll came stumbling up beside the trebuchet, looking like she’d crawled through the very Void to get there.

Suddenly, bright light flooded the space where Cullen stood. Cullen started, then blinked to find Kate standing right beside him. She had climbed up onto the machine beside him, holding icy-blue light in her right palm.

“How else can I help?” she asked Cullen, and though her voice was calm, the light quavered a little. Cullen felt his ribcage grow warm once again. He gave Kate the briefest of smiles, just a twitch of one side of his mouth, and then turned to the wheel.

“Just hold that light,” he told her. “I still need someone to help me turn this wheel and set the beam. Then the levers lock it into place until we hit that switch and the whole thing fires.”

Cullen wasn’t sure quite why he’d lapsed into something like a training session just now, but he had. Perhaps it was because pretending this was all an exercise was keeping him from fully acknowledging the torchlights drawing ever nearer.

“Got it,” Kate said. She flicked her fingers, sending the light to hover in the air over their heads. Then she grabbed hold of the wheel, as if she was going to help Cullen turn it. Cullen opened his mouth to protest that the wheel was very heavy, but stopped. Instead, he shouted to the team of men at the other wheel:

“Together now! Turn!”

On the other side of the frame, the soldiers tugged at the wheel. Cullen and Kate pulled on their end, but the thing scarcely moved at all.

“Not bad,” a voice rumbled from down below. “Not bad for a trebuchet. I was expecting a simple swinging counterweight, or maybe one of those lumbering pieces of shit powered by two treadwheels. Thought it would take you guys a full half-hour to set the beam. But this is pretty good, commander.”

“So glad you approve, Bull,” Cullen grunted, recognizing the qunari’s voice. “So long as you’re here, can you help with the wheel?”

“Yes, please,” Kate gasped beside him.

“On it,” Bull said, climbing up onto the platform beside them. He placed his hands on the wheel and Kate ducked out of the way. Bull then yanked the wheel so hard that Cullen was nearly pulled off balance. Seeing that Bull had this side well in hand, Cullen ducked around to the other wheel help the soldiers pull.

“Templars headed this way!” Cullen heard someone shout. It sounded like Cassandra.

“Sure I see’ em meself,” Coll replied crankily. “ _Emma elvarel_ , what a time fer this shite.”

“Just keep them off the trebuchet!” Kate shouted, and Cullen felt a wash of magic slide over his skin as Kate cast a shield spell on him and the others soldiers.

Then there was a scream.

It was like no scream Cullen had ever heard before. It didn’t even sound human. And then, suddenly, battle flowed over them.

It was like a wave of red light and shadows swept in around the siege engine, but Cullen did not dare look down into those battle-waters. Even when the man at Cullen’s side was suddenly yanked back into the shadows, Cullen didn’t glance back to see where the fellow landed or what had grabbed him. Instead, Cullen had to put his shoulder into the wheel to keep it from turning backward and undoing all their work.

“Bull!” Cullen shouted. “I lost one - no, make that two of my men. We need to hurry!”

At Cullen’s side, an arrow had cut down another of the men, who now slumped against the frame of the siege machine, unmoving.

Cullen heard a roar, and through the timbers of the frame, he saw Bull straining at the wheel. Then the wheel turned, slowly and haltingly at first, then smoothly, then quickly, and Cullen frantically pulled as fast as he could to aid it in its whirring. Then there was a great CLANK as the beam fell into place.

“Hold it there, Bull!” he shouted.

Quick as he could, Cullen scrambled around the frame, climbing the timbers just as a flaming arrow went sailing into the wood where his head had been just moments ago.

“Might want to get yourself a helmet, commander,” Bull said tightly, his every muscle straining as he fought to keep the wheel from turning back.

“Surely your head makes the bigger target,” Cullen returned dryly, ducking down to set the lever to hold the beam in place. Bull chuckled through gritted teeth as two more flaming arrows sank into the frame above their heads.

“They’re gonna try and burn this thing down,” Bull said, letting go of the wheel and reaching for his greatsword.

“It’s coated with spindleweed and lime,” Cullen replied. “Ought to hold it for a while. Bull, I need you to…”

But evidently Bull had just been waiting for his turn to join the battle. Turning from the wheel, the qunari let out a shout and leaped off the trebuchet. His back was bowed for a moment, his greatsword held high, and then he landed on an armored figure in the shadows, and split the templar in two.

Cullen winced at the giant’s viciousness, then turned back to the trebuchet. Only two soldiers remained of the original crew. Cullen pointed down into the underbelly of the machine.

“The sling,” he hollered to them. “We need to reset it.” The two men nodded, and all of them scrambled down under the frame at once. At the same moment, a tree - and actual _tree_ \- suddenly shot up through the ground beside the siege engine, sending several armored attackers flying.

“ _Na din’an sahlin!_ , yeh great fecks!” Cullen heard a distinctly Dalish voice cry. “An’ _that’s_ me oak up yer arse!”

“That elf frightens me, ser,” one of the remaining siege engineers said, as Cullen dropped down beside him.

“Me as well,” Cullen admitted. “Good thing she’s on our side. Here, get the sling sorted out. Where’s our earth-mage?”

“Dead, ser,” the other soldier said, nodding as he reached for the tangle of rope and leather. Cullen felt his heart sink as he followed the man’s gaze. A robed body lay out there in the blood-splashed snow, glassy eyes staring sightlessly at the sky.

“I need a mage!” Cullen cried out into the field. “Kate! Coll!”

There was a flash of light as ice and fire ran together in a wild explosion. It appeared that a single armored form was trapped inside those dueling elements, just before the horned figure of Bull smashed into it.

“That one was _mine_!” Cullen heard Colleen cry. “I had him burned afore yeh froze ‘im or smashed ‘im!”

“Slow down, Circles!” Bull shouted. “Save your strength!”

“Save me strength?” Coll snapped, clutching at her staff with one hand and her head with the other. “Save me strength? I was once a Keeper of clan Lavellen, yeh great ox! That _is_ me savin my feckin’ strength!”

She waved her hand and a ring of flame erupted around the battlefield. By the light of it, Cullen now saw the templars not just as shadows upon darkness, but as silhouettes against fire. They didn’t move like humans, Cullen thought, his hand on the frame as he stared out into the night. Rather, they moved like wild beasts, their joints all set at the wrong angles and their limbs elongated or broken.

“Hold your ground!” Cullen heard Kate shout above all this. “There’s another wave coming!”

And so there was. A screech rent the air as an armored figure leapt over the wall of flames. Half-way through it’s leap, however, a root shot up and skewered the templar mid-flight.

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” Coll gruntd as the armored figure fell. “What feckin’ buzz-kills.”

“Sling’s ready, ser,” one of the soldiers announced to Cullen. The two men held the leather thong out like a hammock.

“Kate!” Cullen shouted from inside the timbers of the trebuchet. “I need a payload!”

Kate did a double take at the sound of his voice, and for one awful moment, Cullen thought he might have killed her. A templar rushed at her while she was distracted. But just as she spotted Cullen under the machine, one of Robert’s arrow struck the templar down. Kate ran for Cullen, never even realizing how close she’d been to death.

“Cullen,” she gasped, “These templars…”

Cullen spoke right over her, pointing at the nearby shelf of rock along the lakeshore.

“Payload,” he told her. “We need a rock,” he clarified, when she merely blinked. “About this size,” he added, holding up his hands as though holding a pumpkin.

“Oh,” Kate said. “I…” She flexed her left hand for a moment, and Cullen saw the green light was flickering wildly in her palm.

“Can you do it?” Cullen asked her, sharply. From beyond them, there were more shouts and screams.

“Of course,” Kate said, stepping back from the siege machine. “Of course.”

She screwed up her face in concentration, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then, quite suddenly, a rock the size of a small barrel came screaming out of the night. It made straight for the trebuchet - and Cullen’s head.

“Maker!” one of the engineers shouted, but the rock stopped just short of impact. Instead it hung hovering in the air right beside the trebuchet, then slowly inched under the machine.

“Sorry!” Kate called. Cullen felt his heart hammering in his chest, but motioned to his men.

“Quickly now,” he said, helping them slip the sling around the rock. “Alright then,” Cullen called, when they had the rock encased. “Let it down easy, Kate.”

The rock dropped heavily to the ground, and Cullen and the two soldiers jumped back against the frame. There was an ominous creak in the timbers above. Cullen glanced up, and saw flames had spread from the templars’ arrows. Fire now licked the timbers of the trebuchet’s frame.

“Hurry!” he called to Kate. “We need to…”

Cullen heard Kate scream in alarm. He looked up just in time to see something like a demon rush at her. Kate snapped her staff out before her, sending up a spray of solid ice. But the demon-thing simply sliced through Kate’s wall with long, clawed hands.

Cullen had no real memory of charging, nor of drawing his sword. All he knew was that one moment he was under the trebuchet, the next moment, he was racing toward Kate. And in the next moment, something slammed into him from the side and sent him flying.

“Cullen!”

Cullen heard Kate scream his name, saw a flare of blue light flash at his feet. But the shield-spell came too late to cover him. Cullen hit the ground and skidded to a stop. Pain shot through his right shoulder, and his sword flew from his grip.

“Ser!” he thought he heard someone yell. And someone else cried:

“They’re everywhere!”

Cullen tried to roll over, tried to return to the fight, tried to call out for the engineers to fire the trebuchet already. But something heavy struck his side and he found himself thrown once more. This time, when he landed, Cullen felt as if he’d suddenly been plunged underwater. There was a roaring sound was everywhere and nowhere. Faint clashes came from a distance - he thought he heard Kate’s cry again - and over all of it, Cullen heard the deep, rasping sound of his own breathing. He tried again to reach for his sword, and again felt pain shoot through his arm. Then something slammed into Cullen, pinning him to the ground. He looked up into the night, and saw a templar looming over him, one knee on Cullen’s armored chest. But this was like no templar Cullen had ever seen. Through the slit in a templar’s helmet, Cullen saw his enemy’s eyes. And at that sight, Cullen went cold with fear.

Those eyes were not human. They were not demon eyes either, nor even the eyes of an abomination. Cullen had only seen eyes like that once before: eyes red and glowing, eyes filled with hatred and hurt and longing and betrayal all at once. They were the eyes of someone who looked so long for perfection that they had entirely lost hope. Now, all those eyes looked for was destruction.

They were Meredith’s eyes, and Cullen for a moment thought he was looking into his dead commander’s face. But then the thing inside that mask screamed - a hissing, retching scream, and Cullen smashed his elbow up and into the helmet as hard as he could. The helmet flew off, and Cullen nearly threw up when he saw what lay beneath it. The face was not one he knew. It barely even looked human anymore. Red crystals stuck up from the cheeks like tusks; red crystals hung down from the mouth like fangs. A red crystal stuck from the thing’s skull as if it had been impaled on the stuff and all of that red seemed to glow and stink and it almost _sang_. The lyrium itself seemed to call to Cullen in a language he once knew, but could not now understand. It tugged at his chest, repulsed him and enticed him all at once. And as he stood there staring, with the templars hands wrapped around Cullen’s throat, two long blades of lyrium began to grow down from the templar’s wrists. They slid out slowly, pressed right up against Cullen’s skin.

Then there was a ‘snick’ of a blade and the templar’s distorted, glowing head fell off to one side. The headless body flopped on top of Cullen, spurting blood from its stump of a neck. With a cry, Cullen scooted back as the thing caught fire. When he looked up again there was the spirit-boy, Cole, with his twin daggers dripping blood.

“You’re welcome,” the boy said, before Cullen could say anything at all. Then he disappeared entirely.

“Cullen, are you alright?”

Kate dropped to her knees before him. Her left hand was both sparking and dripping blood.

“The trebuchet,” Cullen gasped, pointing at it.

“Right,” she said, turning to it. “Oh Maker, look at it burn! Will it even work?”

“Just fire it!” Cullen cried, trying to struggle to his feet.

Kate said nothing, just shot out her right hand. The throw-switch clicked down, and the machine did the rest. The counterweight swooped back with a great _WHOOSH_ and the frame creaked as one of the timbers split. The beam went flying up into the air, and the sling followed it, flinging the rock out into the night.

“It’s not going to make it,” Cullen said, feeling dread sink into him. He could see at once that the trebuchet had been compromised by flame. The missile was not rising high enough, not moving fast enough to reach full range. All of that fighting, and this wasn’t going to work.

“At least the payload caught on fire,” he muttered to himself. Too bad it wouldn’t get to its destination.

“Coll!” Kate shouted, leaping to her feet. “The rock! Help me with the rock!”

Coll turned from where she’d been skewering a templar on a root, and looked blankly at Kate, then saw where Kate was pointing. Suddenly understanding, Coll shot out her hand to the sky. Both the mages now splayed their fingers, as if giving praise to the starless heavens. For a moment, the rock continued on its slow arc, and then, quite suddenly, it was as if something had kicked it mid-flight. It shot toward the mountain, gaining speed, dropping in height….

Then Kate staggered to the ground, clutching at her left hand.

“Ahhhh!” she cried, her voice choked with tears.

“Kate!” Cullen cried. He stumbled toward her, and so he missed the moment when the missile landed. As he fell to his knees beside Kate, Cullen glanced up at the mountains. Had this even worked, Cullen wondered wildly? He had not heard any sounds of impact above the roar of the battle. It was possible he’d dragged everyone out here into danger for nothing.

“Kate-lass!” Coll shouted, rushing over to her friend. “Are yeh alright?”

“It’s pulling,” Kate hissed. “The mark. It’s like it’s trying follow the rock or something. Ah! See? It’s pulling toward the east.”

Cullen looked down and saw that indeed, Kate’s hand was scored deep, as if someone had drawn a knife across it.

“Here yeh are lass,” Coll said, sending some healing magic into it. “Here yeh are.”

“Don’t waste your mana,” Kate hissed. “It’ll just tear again.” She looked up at last, but her face fell when she gazed at what was left of the siege engine. The trebuchet had become like a bonfire, burning in the night.

“Oh, Maker,” Kate whispered. “That was our last chance.”

“But look!” Coll cried, pointing out into the darkness. “Look!”

Cullen looked, his eyes desperately searching the hills. And out there in the night, something seemed to be happening. It was too faint a thing to see clearly in the moonlight - just a sort of shuffling of gray and gray along the mountainside. But then the torchlights were snuffed out, starting in the north and swooping swiftly down to the lake. As when a priestess blows out the confessional candles at the end of a service, the lights went out in rows upon rows. And with the darkness came a cracking, crashing sound like distant waves on rocks. Cullen thought he might never have heard a more blessed sound in all his life.

“Ah-ha!” shrieked Coll. “We did it! We did– Oh, great Mythal,” she moaned, placing a hand to her head. “I shouldna shout like that when I’ve the wine-blues.”

“Yes!” roared Bull, causing Coll to flinch again. “ _That’s_ how it’s done!”

“Watch out!” came a yell, and Cullen looked around just in time to see a mad-eyed templar rushing at him. But then something rushed into _it_ \- another armored body with short hair and a battle-roar that set Cullen’s hair on end. Cassandra shield-bashed the last templar on the field, then sliced off one of its arm, and stabbed it right through the neck. When she turned around, her armor was splashed with blood.

“Where is Robert?” she demanded at once, not even pausing as she stalked the field. “Where is…?”

“Here,” a voice weakly called, and Cullen saw a rangy figure stumble forward to his knees. Cassandra cried and went running over to him.

“Maker’s breath,” she cried, “Colleen. Come heal him.”

“Sure, sure,” the healer said, still clutching her head. “That’s what I’m here for, yeah? Eh, Falon’din guide these poor sods,” Coll added, waving her hand at the corpses all around. “They’re beyont healin’.”

It was true, Cullen saw. In the light of the burning trebuchet, he gazed out at the carnage around them. Dozens of bodies on the ground, some wearing the remains of templar armor, many more wearing the Inquisition’s colors. Cullen felt numbed by the sight.

“What happened to those templars?” Cullen asked, surprised his voice was so calm. “What changed them?”

“I don’t know,” Kate said, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

“I have,” Cullen murmured, but he didn’t think anyone heard him.

“Red hunger,” Cole said, appearing suddenly at Cullen’s side. “Red anger. Red songs sung by red throats.”

“And red shite from red arses,” Coll finished for him, looking up from a body that was too late to save. “Just talk sense, boy. What happened to ‘em? Oh, feck me, I need an elfroot.”

“Help Robert, elf!” Cassandra demanded. “Stop messing about with the dead.”

“Oh, aren’t you a sympathetic one?” Coll said, stumbling over.

“I’m fine,” Robert said, shaking his head as Coll reached out to heal him. “I’m fine. But the templars… I know what happened to them. They… They ate the lyrium. The red kind. That’s what made them like that.”

Cullen opened his mouth, but no sound came out. A wave of emotion washed over him, a sorrow and fury and betrayal so deep that he could not speak.

“They _ate_ the red lyrium?” Kate asked, her voice rising sharply. “As in, they ingested it? As in, they put actual red lyrium in their actual mouths and consumed it?”

“Last time I checked, that’s what ‘eating’ means, Kate,” Robert nodded, clutching his side. “I thought I told you that at the first. Or no. No, I didn’t. Ought to have mentioned it. Sorry. This whole thing is becoming a blur.”

“Stay with me, Robert,” Cassandra told him sharply, as Coll glared at Robert angrily.

“Mythal save yeh, boyo, what a thing to keep to yourself! I have half a mind teh not heal yeh after all. I will heal yeh, o’ course,” she added, when Cassandra scowled at her. “Just don’ feel like it much at the mo’.”

“It hardly matters _when_ we found out,” Cassandra said, decisively. “What Lord Seeker Lucius did to these templars, he must have done long ago.”

“The Lord Seeker gave his face to someone else,” Cole said, softly.

“What?” Cassandra frowned at the boy. “The Lord Seeker did what with his face?”

“The Lord Seeker traded places with an Envy demon,” Robert explained, as Coll let her glowing hands rest. “It was… nasty.”

He shuddered, and Cullen now recognized the signs of one who has fought back against demons. It did not surprise him any more that Robert was acting so erratic and forgetful, if he’d been trying to outrun a monster like that.

“But we killed Envy,” Robert went on. “The templars followed someone else here. Sam… Sam… Sammy something. Some disgraced fellow from Kirkwall. Barris would remember the name.”

Cullen froze in his tracks.

“Not Samson,” he said.

“That’s the chap.” Robert snapped his fingers. “Samson.”

“Samson,” Cullen murmured, as he glared off into the hills.

Of course, it wasn’t as if Cullen could actually spot the fellow in this dark and at this distance. With any luck, the man was dead, buried under feet of snow. But Cullen remembered that rat-like face all the same.

“Is that some friend of yours, commander?” Bull wanted to know.

“No,” Cullen replied, firmly. “Definitely not.”

&ldquoldquoLonely and learned, silent and solemn,” Cole murmured. “You were everything Samson was not. That’s why he hates you.”

“The feeling was mutual, I assure you,” Cullen replied. “But Samson was no leader. Why would any sane templar listen to the man, much less eat red lyrium at his say so?”

“See now, yeh just answered yer own question,” Coll said. “Since when was there ever a sane templar?”

Cullen decided to ignore that remark.

“Samson doesn’t know the oldest songs,” Cole said then, looking up at the distant hills from under the wide brim of his hat. “He follows the Elder One’s music now. All the red templars do.”

Cullen was absolutely certain his heart stopped beating for a moment. Kate went perfectly still, and Cassandra gasped. As for the Iron Bull, he groaned loudly.

“Oh come on! Not that Elderly asshole from the Redcliffe future-dream-thing. _He_ was leading these templars?”

“Is,” Cole said. “He is leading them.”

With this, the boy pointed at the distant hills.

Cullen whirled around, certain of what he would see and dreading it all the same. Far off on the distant mountainside, a single light had appeared in the dark. Then another light flickered into being, and another, and another. Soon the hillside was once again dotted with pinpricks of fire.

“Maker save us,” Kate murmured, her eyes wide with fear.

“Never thought I’d find myself hating the sight of lights in the darkness,” Robert murmured. “That’s got to be blasphemy or something.”

Blasphemy or not, Cullen entirely agreed with the man.

“How could they survive that?” Cassandra demanded. “Surely even red lyrium could not give templars the power enough to breathe under snow.”

“Yeh willin’ teh bet on that, Seeker?” Coll asked her.

“Maybe they were in the Deep Roads?” Robert asked. “Cole said that’s how they got here so fast.”

“See now, and that’s another thing yeh mighta tol’ us, lad,” Coll said, clutching the side of her head.

“Aw, shit,” Bull said, scowling. “Deep roads? Ugh, I hate that about the south. Always a tunnel somewhere.”

“But we searched the place repeatedly,” Cassandra protested.

Cullen shook his head. “No,” he said, dully. “Keran said something about a map with more mines on it. But it wasn’t in the Chantry histories, nor any of the atlases of this place. If there were other paths into this place…”

He couldn’t go on from there. Because if he did, Cullen had to admit that this entire mess might all be his fault.

“Then we fight,” Kate said, fiercely, turning to all of them. “There are less templars than before, right? The avalanche must have taken out the bulk of them. So we fall back to the walls. And we fight.”

“Kate,” Cullen said, her name slipping out of his mouth, and he didn’t even quite know why. Kate paused and looked over at him. In the light of the burning trebuchet, her expression was both fierce and sad. Cullen felt something course through him - something desperate and powerful - and it frightened him even as it comforted him.

“Do you even know what an Elder One is?” Robert asked, sounding a bit punch-drunk as he posed this question. “I could never get a straight answer out of Cole.”

“Wings of dry bone, heart of black sinew,” Cole said in his sing-song voice. “Seeking and searching and soulless. Death is drawing near.”

“Yes, you see?” Robert said, waving a hand. “Just like that. Come on, Cole. Tell us once and for all: What _is_ the Elder One?”

The boy turned then, stared at Robert with pale, vacant eyes and said:

“Old.”

And that was when the dragon came screaming out of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I am not a huge fan of the tactics in this section of the game, but worked with them all the same. For my full nerd rant on siege weaponry in In Your Heart Shall Burn, see [here](http://tumblr.sagefic.com/post/149811603934/please-indulge-my-nerd-rant-about-siege-weaponry)


	39. Burning Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Inquisition retreats while Kate takes a stand

“That was a dragon,” Coll said, leaning heavily against the Chantry door. “That was a _dragon_.”

“Yes,” Cassandra replied, tersely. “We saw it.”

“But why a dragon?” Coll wanted to know, her eyes wide and wild.

Kate had no answer to that. Even if she could think of something, she wouldn’t have been able to speak. She was still trying to catch her breath. They had run through Haven just now, desperate to reach the Chantry. But now this refuge seemed a very small and fragile. A dragon was out there - a great sinewy shape swooping about on ragged wings. Surely it could crush this place as easily as it had smashed that burning trebuchet.

“I once saw an Archdemon in the Fade,” Cole intoned. “It looked like that. Bones and blight, fire and fear.”

“Was the shittiest-looking dragon I’ve ever seen,” Bull grumbled, as if this was a personal affront.

Cullen stood beside Kate, gasping for breath, his right arm hanging limply at his side. He now took a few steps into the Chantry, then stopped.

“Where is everyone?” he demanded.

Kate, too, stared. For the Chantry was almost entirely empty. Kate’s mouth dropped open as fear and sorrow threatened to bury her.

“Didn’t anyone make it?” Kate asked desperately, her voice echoing through the empty space. “I thought everyone was hiding in here. I thought…”

“I sent them on,” a voice replied.

A figure strode up out of the darkness and into the circle of light cast by the torches and the prayer-candles. It was Leliana, with Keran and Morris by her side.

“Haven is evacuating as we speak,” the Nightingale said, her voice cool and stern.

“The wounded are slowing us down, ser,” Keran said, speaking to Cullen. “Ruvena and Rylen are doing what they can to hurry them, but we need more time.”

“Hurry them where?” Cullen demanded. “Evacuating where?”

“Into the mountains,” Leliana said, pointing to the door to the crypts. “There is a passageway. A long tunnel - part of a former mine complex. It leads from the Chantry’s crypts to the summer path - an old pilgrim road.”

“There was a passageway out of the Chantry itself and you never thought to tell me?” Cullen asked, scowling at her. “Maker’s breath, Leliana! I thought we agreed to share intelligence!”

“Chancellor Roderick knew about it as well,” Leliana said defensively. “He thought he was the only one who…” She broke off there and shook her head. “You’re right, commander. I ought to have said something. But the Hero of Ferelden and I once explored these hills and–” She sighed and shrugged. “I am a woman fond of secrets,” she said, softly.

“Ah,” Cullen said, as if that explained it. To Kate, it didn’t. Not at all.

“So the people of Haven have gotten away?” Kate asked, wanting to be clear on this point.

“Only a short distance, but yes,” Leliana replied. “Along with all the supplies we could salvage. My scouts went on ahead to find us a place to hide. There isn’t much up in the mountains though. Just snow and storm.”

“The templars will just follow us,” Robert rasped, clutching at his side. “They’ll pick us off even as we escape.”

“Where are my guys?” Bull wanted to know. The qunari had been bent double, gasping for breath as he listened to all this. Now he straightened. “Are the Chargers up that way?” he asked, pointing to the crypts.

“Yes,” Leliana nodded. “If you could position them at the end of the tunnel, maybe you could hold the templars off…”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinkin’,” Bull told her. He hurried off toward the door.

“We should go as well,” Cassandra said, looking worriedly at Robert. “You need a healer.”

“We’d do better to stand and fight,” Robert said. He tried reaching for another arrow, but his fingers missed entirely and he came up with empty air.

Kate shook her head in worry. Robert seemed barely able to stand, which meant Coll’s healing magic hadn’t taken root. That happened sometimes, Kate thought, if someone was badly fatigued and wounded both. Robert would be lucky if he could climb the hills, much less make it through another battle.

And what of everyone else, Kate thought? As she looked around the empty Chantry, Kate pictured the faces of all the people who had retreated to this place - Sera and Varric and Dorian and more. But how many more lay dead out there in the snow? Kate had seen dozens of corpses: mages and soldiers alike, torn apart by blade and claw. Just how much death was this mountain going to see before the end of this year, she wondered? Haven had become a mass grave. And still those templars would fight on - killing every last member of the Inquisition if they could.

“He doesn’t care about the Inquisition,” a cool, calm voice said. “The Elder One only wants _you_.”

Kate looked up with a start to find Cole staring at her. “Me?” she asked, pointing a finger at herself.

“What?” Cullen started, taking a step forward as if to place himself between Cole and Kate. “Why does the Elder One want her?”

“Here we go again…” Robert muttered.

“The mark marks her,” Cole said, softly. “The Elder One sees it from afar, tries to pull its power into his own hands. He’ll break Haven to get it.”

Robert blinked. “I say, Cole. That actually made sense.”

“Insofar as anything in this night makes sense,” Cullen grumbled.

“But why?” Kate asked. “What does the Elder One have to do with the mark? Did he make it? Did _he_ put this on me?”

“Reaching for the door,” Cole murmured. “Green light, screams, the desperate move of a dying woman. The warriors should have warded, not watched. It wasn’t bravery, but reaction.”

“And there he goes again,” Robert sighed.

“Sure ‘twas nice getting sense out of ‘im while it lasted,” Coll agreed.

Kate frowned. For a moment there, Cole’s words illuminated the dark corners of her memory. Kate recalled screams at the Conclave, and green light and something about a woman. But even as she groped for recollection, the memory faded into the shadows. Kate was left standing in the chantry, with little more light than those of the braziers and prayer candles. And yet, the way forward seemed clear as sunlit day:

There could be no escape for Kate. Not tonight. Not from Haven.

Kate looked up from her hand, and her eyes rested on Cullen. He met her gaze, and it seemed he had come to the same conclusion as she. His eyes widened at once and he shook his head.

“There must be another way,” he said.

“Cullen, if he’s targeting me…”

“No,” he said again. “Look you…” here he turned to Cole. “Demon, er… boy…”

“Compassion,” the boy replied.

Cullen stopped short at that, blinking.

“I prefer Cole,” Cole added.

“Are you certain that the Elder One is after Kate?” Cullen asked.

“Yes,” Cole replied. “And you believe me.”

Whether he believed Cole or not, Cullen shook his head. “Into the passages,” he commanded, pointing to the crypts. “All of you. Set yourselves at the end of the tunnel with the Bull’s Chargers and be ready to make a stand there.”

“Quickly everyone!” Kate called out. She, however, did not move.

“I meant you, too, Kate,” Cullen said, his voice low and urgent. Kate ignored him.

“Robert, you go first. Cassandra, can you help him to a healer?”

“Of course,” the Seeker replied. She drew Robert’s arm across her shoulder, helping him limp away.

“Are you certain, Herald?” Leliana asked, her lips set in a thin line. It seemed the Nightingale had also caught on to Kate’s plan. Unlike Cullen, however, Leliana clearly wasn’t about to fight Kate on it.

“Yes,” Kate told her. “And you, Cole,” she added, turning to the spirit.

“You need help,” the boy replied.

“I think I may be beyond it,” Kate replied, attempting to smile. “Go help the refugees. They need compassion more than anyone.”

“That’s why they came,” Cole told her, and then he turned abruptly away.

“Kate…” Cullen began again.

Just then, the dragon roared outside, and the sound rattled through the Chantry. The mark on Kate’s hand sparked once more, tugging toward the closed doors like it was trying to slip away into the night. Gritting her teeth, Kate turned to Coll.

“Go on, Coll,” she said. “Robert will need a healer.”

Coll shook her head and glared at Kate with bloodshot eyes. “Oh feck no,” the elf growled in a low, raspy voice. “Don’t try this shite on me.”

“Get going,” Kate insisted, reaching for her friend.

“Feck you!” Coll snapped, shaking Kate off. “Feck both of you!” she added, scowling at Cullen. “You gobshite coward of a templar. I would have thought you’d stand by her, but you’re as henshite as a wee boy.”

Cullen blanched at this, and Kate frowned. “Be fair, Coll,” Kate said. “Cullen has to go with the Inquisition. The remaining troops need him if they’re to have any chance at all.”

“That’s true,” Keran said, solemnly.

“I– Yes, but…” Cullen frowned, seeming to struggle for words. “But Kate, without the mark–”

“She ain’t the mark!” Coll shouted, waving her arms wide. “She’s Kate! Yeh great feck of a– _Ma nuvenin tel ash!_ You don’t deserve her! And you!” she snapped, rounding on Kate. “You self-sacrificin’ eejit and martyr-whore! You stay right where you are, Kate. Oi, Morris,” she added, looking over Kate’s shoulder. “Get some fighters back in here. If Kate goes down, we’re all goin’ with her.”

“Disregard that order,” Kate said firmly, when Morris looked like he might follow it.

“Don’ do this, Kate,” Coll said. She almost sounded like she was begging now.

“What else can we do?” Kate asked her, weakly.

Kate meant it with all her heart. With the refugees escaping into the hills and and a dragon pawing around outside, what else could Kate do but stand her ground? What else could she do but allow her friends to escape?

* * *

Cullen opened his mouth, then closed it. His brows drew together, and his fingers twitched at his side. He wished he could draw his sword, fight back against this entire situation with strength of will alone. But Cullen knew one man would not be enough to stop the templars and their Elder One. His entire fledging army had not been enough. Now the only hope Haven had of survival was to leave Kate behind.

“There’s no time to argue,” Kate said, pointing at the door to the crypts. “Please Cullen, for my sake. Regroup and fight against the Elder One.”

“Maybe we could surprise it,” Cullen said, hardly knowing what he was saying. “Maybe we can find a way…”

“I’m not watching you die again, Cullen,” Kate said sharply. “Or you,” she told Coll. “In the future, I watched people die. I watched the _world_ die. I’m not going through that again.”

“So you’re askin’ us teh watch _you_ die?” Coll asked.

“No,” Kate said. “I’m asking you to get out of here and remember me. I’m asking for you to make it count.”

As if anyone could possibly forget her, Cullen thought. She looked so brave in that moment. Her eyes were like those of a soldier who knows she is heading into her final battle. Cullen had seen such a look many times in his life. He was certain he’d shown that same grim determination a time or two himself. But to see it on Kate’s face seemed entirely wrong.

“I will _not_ leave yeh, Kate,” Coll said, fiercely. “Yeh can order these shems about if yeh like. But not me. Never me.”

Tears welled in Kate’s eyes and she nodded.

“Alright then,” she said, her voice breaking.

“Alright then,” Coll agreed.

“Kate…” Cullen began, but he could say nothing more. The loyalty and bravery of these two women astonished him. It shamed him. He wished he could offer Kate a similar show of courage and friendship. But he had his duty. He had to retreat. And he had never resented his position as commander until now.

“But what happens when they templars overrun the Chantry?” Morris wanted to know. He asked this as if it was an academic question, not a matter of life and death. “If those templars break in here, they’ll just kill you and come up the tunnel, won’t they?”

“Then Kate and me’ll blast ‘em,” Coll said confidently. “Bring the Chantry down on top of us. Bury yer escape passage in rubble.”

“Holy Maker,” Cullen murmured, an image flashing in his mind of broken bodies crushed by stone. He shook his head hard to clear it of that thought.

“A sacrifice like that will solve nothing,” a mild voice put in, “It sounds like a blood-mage’s plan, Colleen.”

Out of the shadows came Solas. His face glowed slightly in the light of the prayer candles. Why the elf had stayed behind, Cullen could not say. But aside from the way his ears twitched when the dragon roared again, Solas seemed quite calm.

“Have you got a better idea?” Coll snapped at the elf.

“I would suggest we flee the other way,” Solas said, pointing at the doors, in the direction of the lake beyond. “The Herald moves quickly with her magics.”

“What, you mean my Fade-step spell?” Kate said. “But I can’t keep that up for very long.”

“No, but it would get you away from here,” Solas replied.

“I’m not running to save my own skin,” Kate said, sternly. “Besides, I can die in here as easily as out by the lake.”

“It may be the only way to save your friends,” Solas urged her. “Flee far from here.”

“Wait,” Cullen said, holding up a hand. For an idea had occurred to him - a wild and reckless plan that might still result in Kate’s death. But if there was any chance it could work - any at all - that had to be better than leaving her here as bait to distract the dragon.

“We have the last trebuchet,” Cullen told them.

“Aw _feck_ you and yer trebuchets, templar!” Coll groaned, leaning her head back against the door. “What? One fecked-up battle ‘round a siege engine weren’t enough for you? Yeh want us to try another one?”

“Yes,” Kate said, eagerly. “We can bury the town, possibly the dragon, too. The people will get away…”

“What?” Keran frowned. “Use the trebuchet on the mountain?”

“Exactly,” Cullen said, nodding eagerly. “Morris, you set the trebuchet last. What’s the trajectory?”

“Hmm?” Morris had been humming a lilting tune to himself, and now looked up in surprise.

“The northwest trebuchet,” Cullen said again, striving for patience. “What did you set it for?”

“West-by-north,” Morris replied. “Two-hundred-eighty degrees by the compass, forty-five degrees incline to the release.”

Cullen blinked. “Maker’s breath, Morris,” he gaped. “Did you know we’d need it set like that?”

“Like what?” Morris asked. He went back to his humming.

Alright, Cullen thought. Evidently Morris wasn’t precognizant that they would need the trebuchet set to those specifications. Still, that was _exactly_ the right path to send a missile into the mountain. It was either a very good bit of luck, or perhaps the Maker was working through Morris’ oddities. Stranger things had happened, surely.

“Is the trebuchet loaded?” Cullen asked.

“No ser,” Morris broke off humming his song, and looked alarmed at the thought. “If it was loaded and went off in that direction, it might set off an avalanche. That would be dangerous, ser.” Cullen ignored this and turned to Kate.

“Those templars are still out there,” Cullen told Kate. “You may have to fight through them to get to the trebuchet.”

“Not a problem,” Coll said confidently. “Sure but she’ll have me with ‘er.”

“I’ll go too, ser,” Keran said, raising his hand.

“Me too,” Morris agreed, though Cullen wondered if the man really knew what he was signing on for. Still, if anyone could clear a path through the templars, it was Morris. Cullen now wished he had more soldiers to send with Kate. It was too late to call up the passage for some now.

“And I will go as well,” Solas announced.

“Aw feck, really?” Coll asked him, incredulous. “Sure, there’s the end of that party,” she grumbled.

“But if you do this, you all may get buried with me,” Kate said, frowning at the lot of them.

“Not necessarily,” Cullen said, urgently. “Kate, listen. The trebuchet’s firing mechanism is the same as the one on the other machine. Remember how you set it off from a distance? Do you think you could do that again? From even further away, perhaps?”

Kate’s eyes sparked with hope, and Cullen felt an answering spark in his own chest.

“Maybe,” she said. “And if everyone ran on ahead and then I Fade-stepped quickly away… Yes. Yes, I think this could work. We could all get back to the Chantry in time.”

Now when Kate looked toward the doors, it was with determination, not resignation. Cullen found the crushing weight in his chest lightened every so slightly.

“Oh feck me,” Coll said, looking around in surprise. “Are we gonna actually live through this then? And after I was getting all my prayers to Mythal in order, too.”

“It seems you do not need them yet, Colleen,” Solas said, dryly.

Cullen disagreed with that. It seemed prayers were very much needed at present. For even though this plan offered Kate a chance, it wasn’t much of a chance. It was still madness, Cullen thought, but it was madness with some design. He just hoped it would be enough to save her.

* * *

This was a wild plan, Kate thought, but she liked it far better than the alternative. Compared with certain death, most-probable-death sounded vastly appealing. And surely the death of five people was far better than the death of hundreds. If Kate played her cards right, it might result in the death of only one. Or perhaps even none.

“Are we ready then?” Kate asked everyone.

“Sure, why not,” Coll said with a one-shouldered shrug. “Always figured I’d go real spectacular-like. Comes of bein’ Dalish.”

“So you believe all Dalish meet bad ends?” Solas asked, raising a brow.

“Don’ put words in me mouth, elf,” Coll replied irritably. “I’m jes sayin’ that if now’s me time to die, I’d rather go in battle under the open sky, not hidin’ in a shem Chantry like a feck.”

Solas tipped his head to one side, his mouth curving in a very slight smile.

“You have a free heart, Colleen Lavellen,” he murmured.

“What’s it to you, chancer?” Coll wanted to know.

Just then, a _BOOM_ echoed down the hall and the entire building shook. Several ceiling tiles fell into the hall, knocking over a brazier onto the stone floor. Everyone jumped.

“An’ there’s the dragon tryin’ teh claw us out o’ here,” Coll announced. “Best get going.”

“Lyrium,” Keran said, his face pale and his voice shaking. “You mages will need it. You can have mine.”

He reached into his pockets and drew out a few vials. Cullen frowned as Kate took two of the vials for herself, Solas took one, and Coll grabbed a vial and tossed it back in one gulp.

“Ah!” she said, smacking her lips. “Ta kindly, lad. That puts a spring in me step. Feel like I could set the world on fire. An’ maybe I will.”

Kate said nothing as she tucked the lyrium in her pocket. If she was lucky, she would use this to fuel her last, desperate Fade-step run back to the Chantry, and if not…

If not, then she would die. But really, Kate told herself, she had been living on borrowed time for a while now. She survived the Conclave, the Breach-closing, and numerous battles. Perhaps she had been spared before so that she could sacrifice herself now. She only prayed she had the courage to see this through.

“I’ll send up a flare,” Cullen said, and his voice sounded unsteady. “When I’ve reached the end of the passage, I’ll signal you. So you know we’ve made it beyond the tree line.”

“Always with the flares,” Kate said,. “Just don’t put them in your corset, alright?”

Cullen gave a short laugh at that, and Kate felt glad this was the way they’d say goodbye. And if she ever saw him again…

Kate looked over at Cullen, then realized her mistake. The commander was gazing at her with a strange expression. Kate wasn’t sure if that was hope or pride or pain in his eyes, but she couldn’t look at it for long. It was far too intense. Kate turned instead to the doors.

“Go with the Maker, Cullen,” Kate said, not daring to look at him again. “Coll, get ready to cover me.”

“Go with the Maker,” Cullen murmured behind Kate’s back. Another smash rocked the Chantry and Kate gripped her staff more tightly. Kate heard the sound of heavy boots as Cullen dashed away for the tunnels. She heard clunking sounds as more tiles fell from the ceiling.

“Let’s go then, Kate-lass,” Coll said, gathering fire into her palms. “Let’s do this.”

Kate yanked the Chantry doors open.

* * *

This was wrong, Cullen thought, even as he raced down the darkened passage. He wove through groups of huddling refugees, rudely pushed aside both mages and soldiers, the sick and the wounded with no more than a curt word.

“Move!” he snapped at them. Time and again, he said that same word: “Move!”

He said it to himself as much as them. He had to keep running, even though his right arm was burning with pain, even though this felt wrong. This night had gone all wrong.

Somewhere down in that town, Kate was fighting for a chance - just a chance - to save all these people. To save _him_. She might be dead already, Cullen thought wildly. She might be dying. And he had offered her nothing - nothing more than a mad plan, nothing more than the lives of Keran and Morris…

Maker forgive him. He’d sent them all to their deaths.

“Probably,” a voice said at his ear. “Maybe.”

Cullen ran on, ignoring Cole.

“Shadows closing in,” the spirit continued in his light, soft voice. Somehow, he kept pace with Cullen easily. “Grasping claws, twirling blades. Root and rock and fire and ice and screams. Keran fights on, arrow in his leg, pain in his side. If he dies here, who will tell his sister?”

“You are _not_ helping, demon,” Cullen snapped.

Cullen picked up speed, now dodging his way past a… druffalo? How in the Maker’s name had a druffalo fit through the Chantry? He cast a curious glance at the elf leading the beast, then decided he did not care. He had to hurry.

“She sees snowflakes on dead eyes,” the boy said, his voice sing-song by Cullen’s ear. “It reminds her of raindrops on broken fingers. Cold and alone when it came time to die. Under waves and gasping for breath. But everyone dies. She said that, only an hour ago: ‘Everyone dies.’ She just wanted the story to go on a little longer.”

“Not _now_ ,” Cullen said through gritted teeth.

Maker save him, if Kate was dying, if she was already dead…

He couldn’t think that. Couldn’t allow himself to think that.

“She’s not dead yet,” Cole said.

“That,” Cullen snapped, “Is the only update I wish to hear from you, demon.”

“She doesn’t blame you,” Cole said, seeming to float now at Cullen’s side. “She wanted you to go. She wanted you to live.”

That didn’t make Cullen feel any better either. In fact, it almost made him stumble. Only habit and duty kept Cullen steady on his feet. The spirit seemed to sense this, because Cole then said, softly:

“There is still hope. There is always hope.”

Was there? Cullen wanted to ask. At this point, the plan seemed less like a mission, and more like choosing the location of their respective graves. Right now, Cullen felt he was at the wrong location, running in the wrong direction.

“She’d want you to run faster,” Cole murmured by his ear.

Cullen knew this was true. So he raced on, up that long, dark tunnel.

* * *

“Fenharel _feck_ the ones what made up this shite way o’ lobbin’ rocks around!” Coll shouted. “Why can’t a body just use magic teh tear down a mountain?”

“Short of resorting to blood spells, Colleen, the Veil will not permit…” Solas began.

“Feckin’ shut it, you!” Coll shouted back. “That were a rhetorical question.”

“Both of you, stop arguing and pull this wheel!” Kate cried. On this side of the trebuchet, she and Coll, Solas and Keran were all tugging desperately at the wheel. On the other side, it was Morris alone. It seemed the man was as strong as Bull.

“Almost there,” Keran grunted.

“This would have gone a lot faster if the red shiny men left us alone,” Morris said, calmly. He nodded absently at the myriad red templar corpses piled up around the trebuchet. At the same time, the beam clunked into place. Kate lunged for the lever and set it.

“There!” she cried in satisfaction. “Alright everyone, back to the Chantry. I’ll stay here and set off the trebuchet when I get the signal.”

“Pfft, feck no,” Coll said, wiping her hands off on her trousers. “We’re stayin’ with yeh until that flare goes up.”

“Coll, we said…”

“You said,” the elf replied. “But we’re out-votin’ yeh.”

Keran gave Kate an apologetic look and Morris picked at his teeth. Overhead, another shriek went up from the dragon, and Kate scowled at them all.

“We don’t have time to argue,” she said.

“No, we don’t,” Coll agreed, glancing up at the sky nervously. “An’ if yer templar doesn’t hurry up now, we may not have time teh fire this thing off, neither.”

“Coll…” Kate began, but then the dragon’s scream came nearer.

“Sure, but that’s our sign,” Coll said. “Fire it now, Kate, and we’ll all go together.”

“No, Coll,” Kate shouted. “I’m waiting for Cullen’s signal. And _you_ need to run for the Chantry. Just get moving and I’ll be right behind you.”

“There’s no way I’m leavin’…” Coll began, but then her eyes went wide.

Kate had no time to react. A shadow fell over them. The silver light of the moon was snuffed out, and there was a scream. The sound pierced the air, tearing at Kate’s ears, carrying echoes of a shrill, rasping song.

Then Kate went flying through the air.

Fire rushed past her, wings flapped over her. She sailed in space, hit her shoulder, thudded her knee, then snapped her head so hard that stars sparked across her vision. Kate felt a slap across her face, cold and hard as if she’d belly-flopped onto ice. Kate turned her head to one side, found the wind had been knocked out of her. She tried to breathe, rasped, and then coughed blood out onto the snow.

“Coll…” she croaked. She squinted, trying to bring the world into focus. A short distance beyond, Coll lay on the ground - unmoving.

“Coll!” Kate cried as she struggled to stand. Her knee hurt like the Void itself, and judging from the pain in her mouth, she’d bitten her tongue. She spat out some more blood, scrambled toward her friend…

A wall of flame erupted between Kate and her friend. Kate gasped, staggering back at once.

“Coll!” she cried again, then: “Solas! Morris!”

“We’re here Herald!” she heard Solas’ voice cry. It came from beyond the flames.

“Herald!” Kate heard someone shout behind her.

She whirled around and saw Keran lying a short distance from her. His leg stuck out at an odd angle, and he was struggling to stand. Beside him, the trebuchet was still intact, still loaded and ready to fire. But Keran was pointing at something - something walking right through the far circle of dragon fire.

At first it looked like the figure of a man, but then Kate realized it was too tall, too spindly, too _wrong_ to be a man. That was no templar, Kate thought, no ally either. And if her mark was acting like _this_ , then that must be…

 _The Elder One,_ Kate thought.

“Morris!” she shouted, “Solas! I– Ahh!”

Kate cried out, gripping her wrist. For the mark suddenly sparked with green light, and pain - sharp, scorching pain - coursed through her palm, up her fingers and into her shoulders and neck. It was like nothing Kate had ever known before. She felt as if her every vein was lit with fire.

“Are you alright, Mage Kate?” she heard Morris call. “I’m trying to find a way through the fire, but it’s too high.”

“Don’t be a fool!” Kate heard Solas cry. “That’s Void-fire!”

Kate had no idea what that meant, nor could she think what to do. As it was, Kate could scarcely stand. She was bent double, crippled by the anguish in her _hand_ \- her stupid hand. And all the while, that unnatural figure of the Elder One stalked closer through the flames.

“Get out of here!” Kate cried, gasping for breath. She hoped Morris and Solas could heard her above the flames. “Get Coll out of here! Get her to the Chantry! Get going!” Her voice echoed hysterically into the night.

“But what about you?” Kate heard Morris call back.

“That’s an order!” she all but screamed.

She prayed he followed it. Kate prayed that Coll was not dead already, prayed that Solas and Morris could fight their way through the remaining templars that prowled through the town and that they would escape through the Chantry. All these prayers went through Kate’s head as a sort of desperate, unspoken wish.

Then Kate heard a scream.

She lifted her head, watched the scene unfold through the tears in her eyes. Keran was dangling five feet up in the air, held aloft by that… _thing._ The Elder One had Keran in one hand, it’s palm splayed over his chest and it’s long, spindly fingers curled over Keran’s shoulders. Keran struggled in it’s grip for a moment, his sword falling ineffectually on the creature’s arm. Then Keran gave up any hope of escape. As Kate watched, the brave soldier shot both of his hands up to the sky.

Kate gasped before the Holy Smite struck. A shard of hot-white lightning slammed down into both knight and giant, and a _BOOM_ echoed out into the night. But when the light had faded, Keran lay limp in the giant’s grip and the creature was still standing.

The Elder One tossed Keran to one side as if the man were nothing more than a rag doll. The knight’s body hit the trebuchet and fell heavily down upon the platform, his forgotten sword clattering out of his grip and landing useless upon the frame. Then the Elder One turned it’s eyes to Kate.

Kate shot out her right hand for the lever. She didn’t have time to think, didn’t have time to wait for a flare or proof Coll had survived or anything. She was certain she would die, and was just as certain she needed to take this creature down with her.

But Kate had not been so certain of her magic. And before she could summon enough energy to force the lever down, she was yanked off of her feet.

Kate’s left hand shot forward, the mark dragging her off balance. She fell to her knees, cried out for the pain that shot through her leg and arm both. When Kate’s looked up through her tears, she found that the mark no longer glowed green, but _red_. It spat and flickered and flared, bright as the fire around her. And then Kate realized something other than flame was circling her. The dragon itself pawed along the ground behind her, like a great cat eying a tiny treat. It’s tail flicked, scarcely missing the trebuchet. And all the while, the weird, twisted figure of the Elder One stalked ever closer.

“ _Enough, pretender._ “

Kate heard the voice more in her mind than from her ears. The words had a strange echo to them, as if they came from across a long distance, and distorted with a crackle. A moment later, she realized it was a spell - a very crude translation spell, the like of which she’d only seen demonstrated in the Circle as a curiosity. It was so oddly out of place, this bit of magic lore on a battlefield. But at the same time, the tearing in her hand was sharper, as the mark shifted and flickered, fighting with her skin and bone. Kate’s eyes swam with tears, and she could see little more of her attacker than an ever growing column of dark against flame.

“ _No more shall you toy with forces beyond your ken. No more shall mortals like yourself interrupt the will of gods._

“Gods?” Kate managed, struggling to see through her tears. “Is that what you imagine you are?”

Kate supposed that if the Elder One _was_ a god, she ought not antagonize it. But Kate believed in no God but the Maker, and this murderer struck her as insufferably arrogant. Perhaps she might distract it long enough to get her right hand free and summon her magic. If nothing else, Kate thought, she’d die as feistily as Coll had planned to.

“ _Know me,_ ” the creature rumbled in that odd, carrying voice. “ _Know what you have pretended to be._ “

And when the creature stepped closer, Kate nearly forgot her purpose in her sudden fear. For the face that glared down at Kate was like nothing she’d ever seen. There was red lyrium sticking out of it, but it wasn’t like the templars’ face. Maybe it had once been human - a giant human, maybe. But now it was man-like and yet much like the drawings of darkspawn she’d seen in tomes at the Circle library. Or no, Kate thought, her eyes going wide. It looked just like the stained glass window in the Chantry - the one that depicted a magister of old - the corrupt mages that had broken into the Golden City itself.

“ _Exalt the Elder One,_ ” the creature demanded, towering over Kate. “ _Exalt the will that is… Corypheus._

* * *

“Who in the hell is Corypheus, ser?”

Rylen huffed out this question as he ran, torch held aloft, the tunnel’s damp dripping down over him.

“No idea,” Cullen replied, as he rushed up the passage. All around, people had stopped to listen to that strange voice, a voice carried by magic and power.

If Cullen could believe what he was hearing - and he wasn’t sure that he _did_ believe it - then this was the voice of the Elder One. This was the voice of Corypheus.

And what kind of a name was that, he wanted to know?

Cullen dodged around an old woman, a mage, and nearly knocked over a child. He felt panic rise within him, knowing that Kate was down there, knowing that voice might be echoing from somewhere near her, might even be speaking to her. Cullen had not heard Kate’s voice, of course. That _thing_ was carrying on a one-sided conversation even as he dashed up the tunnel with Rylen at his side.

“ _You resist_ ,” the magical voice now said. It sounded disappointed and resigned. “ _You will always resist_.”

“Damn right we will,” Rylen muttered.

Cullen quite agreed, but he didn’t think much of the chances of anyone who resisted a being with this kind of power. Because whatever else this Elder One was, it held magic beyond anything Cullen had ever encountered. To cast a vocal spell like this, so carelessly, with such lazy disregard for the power spent to uphold it, Cullen could only imagine that the Elder One had magic to spare. Was it a demon, he wondered? A mage? Or perhaps, he thought with a shudder, it was an abomination - a powerful combination of mage and demon both.

And if Kate was down there in Haven with that thing…

“Out of the way!” Cullen thundered into the tunnel. He had shouted similar orders half a dozen times already, but now the urgency in his voice made everyone jump. As people flattened themselves against the walls, Cullen barreled on, panting now for climbing, with Rylen trailing behind him. Then, mercifully, Cullen spotted it at last: the faintest glimmer of moonlight at the end of the tunnel. He ran for it now, his lung nearly bursting for the strain.

Kate had to be somewhere else in Haven, Cullen thought. That thing was attacking someone else. Coll maybe? Coll was the resisting type. And while Cullen didn’t wish the elf ill, he felt much better imagining that it was the Dalish down there, mouthing off to an abomination.

But Kate would resist as well, wouldn’t she? Cullen thought. Though quieter than her friend, Kate was no less stubborn in her own way, no less a warrior.

And then, as he dashed out into the cold and snow, Cullen heard the words he’d feared:

“ _This is your fault, Herald_.”

Cullen stumbled as he came to a halt, as much as from shock as fatigue. Kate _was_ down there. She was down there in the hands of the Elder One, enduring Maker only knew what torments. He imagined Kate, pinned under the magic of a mad-man, slowly dying as a monster shocked her with pain again and a again…

Cullen felt bile rise in his throat. His own body felt a similar pain, his own back and bowed as he remembered. But even as he thought this, even as his own nightmares threatened to engulf him, Cullen fought them back. He fought them back as he had done a thousand times before. And this time, he had further reason to return to reality. He had a job to do here, a job to carry out. It was possible that Kate was waiting on his signal. It was not likely, of course. But she might be. Cullen had to cling to that duty, had to cling to his half of their mad plan. It was the only thing currently giving him purpose.

Cullen forced his mind back to the present. He whirled around, quickly taking stock of the landscape around him. Snow fell in large, heavy flakes this high up in the hills, and a long line of refugees trudged onward into the wind and dark. Nearby, Bull and the Chargers stood with weapons ready.

And behind Cullen, far away in the distance, Haven was little more than a few orange lights in a sea of inky dark. From here, Cullen could almost imagine that those were bonfires down there - not houses burning. He could almost pretend that the Satinalia celebrations were in full swing, and that Kate stood down there in safety - talking about novels as firelight glinted upon her hair.

“ _You interrupted a ritual years in the planning_ ,” the horrible voice spoke, startling Cullen anew. “ _And instead of dying, you stole the Anchor’s purpose_.”

“Are you hearing this?” a voice put in. Cullen turned to find Dorian standing there, staring at Haven with wide eyes.

“Yeah, Vint,” Bull grumbled. “We’re hearing it. We shouldn’t be hearing that shithead from this distance. But we’re hearing him all the same.”

“ _I do not know how you survived_ ,” the voice went on. “ _That mark was crafted to assault the very heavens. And you would use it to undo my work! The gall!_ “

“Arsewipe!” another voice spoke - a very nervous looking Sera, who was chewing her fingernails. “Pisser. People who use say ‘The gall!’ are always pissers. People who gloat that long are arsewipes _and_ pissers. Wish I could stick an arrow in his throat.”

“ _I once breached the Fade in the name of another_ ,” the voice went on, tempting Sera’s ire further. “ _I once served the Old God, Dumat, and sought to claim the Golden Throne for him. But no more. I serve no master but myself_.”

Cullen had meant to return to his purpose. These words made him stop in shock. Beside him, Dorian gasped, and Bull looked murderous.

“What the shit?” the qunari growled.

“Is he claiming to be a magister?” Dorian asked, incredulous. “An _actual_ magister? Like the old ones? The original ones?”

“The ones that brought the Blight,” Cullen murmured. He shook his head, then whirled around. He had meant to check the area, to see if they were above the tree line. He’d meant to see if all the refugees were safely up the hill, out of the tunnels and so on. But none of this seemed to matter now.

One of the magisters had come for Kate.

One of the _magisters_.

“Rylen!” Cullen called, turning quickly to the captain. “Flares!”

“Flares, ser?” the captain blanched. “But why…?”

“The Herald is waiting for a signal,” Cullen said, holding out his hand. “I need a flare.”

“What is the signal for?” Sera wanted to know.

“ _I shall return to the Fade under no banner but my own_ ,” the chill voice echoed out into the night. “ _And you, gnat, shall give me the means to do it. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty_.”

“That’s wrong, right?” Sera said, her voice thin and afraid. “The Golden City empty. He hasn’t been there. He doesn’t know. Can’t have been there.”

“He’s trying to use the mark to open the Fade again?” Dorian wondered aloud. “You’d think the first attempt would have put him off to it.”

“And you wonder why everyone hates mages and Vints,” Bull said, his voice low and angry. “‘Cept you, Krem.”

“Right now I’m kind of hating Vints myself, chief,” Krem replied.

“Oh yes, please,” Dorian said, sarcastically. “Do tar all of Tevinter with the same brush.”

Cullen ignored them. He frantically tried to get the flint to spark, but his hands were shaking too badly to even hold the rocks. He brushed away Rylen’s attempt to help, then finally manage to catch the flare’s fuse. A moment later, however, it flickered out, too damp to light.

“Sorry ser,” Rylen grumbled, fumbling about in his pockets for another. “With the celebrations and all, I wasn’t thinking we’d need…”

“What are you trying to do?” Dorian demanded, noticing their struggle at last.

Cullen couldn’t bring himself to explain that he was only doing what Kate had asked of him: helping to save Haven, helping to make her sacrifice count. So though his stomach churned, though the words felt like vomit coming from his mouth, Cullen pointed at the sky and said:

“Send up a flare. Tell Kate to fire the trebuchet.”

Silence answered him. The Chargers stared at Cullen in horror. Dorian’s wide eyes went even wider. Bull growled low in his throat and muttered, “Damn it, boss.” Rylen just looked away, as if he couldn’t even meet Cullen’s eyes anymore.

Cullen said nothing. He couldn’t endure their sorrow, not when he felt so much. Right now, Cullen’s dominant emotion was impotent anger. He wished he could fly back down the mountain and tear that Elder One apart.

But he couldn’t. Instead, he could only light a flare and hope that Kate had the courage and strength left to die.

He blinked back a sudden surge of tears and gritted his teeth.

“Flares,” he said, coldly. “A signal. Anything?”

“Will a burst of magic do?” Dorian asked, his voice tight. There was a wealth of understanding in his words. There was so much understanding that Cullen couldn’t look at him.

“Bright as you can make it,” Cullen said, softly. “Maybe more than one. She might be…”

“Busy?” Dorian replied, and his easy tone did nothing to hide the tension in his voice. “Right. I’ll send one now and another in a minute.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Cullen whispered.

Cullen didn’t look up as Dorian shot magic into the sky. He didn’t look up as red light glowed all around, and as murmuring refugees filed past them into the cold and Sera muttered a string of curses and Bull added in a few of his own.

Instead, Cullen gazed steadily down at Haven, waiting for a sign, for a response, for anything at all. But nothing came. The little lights continued to glow in the dark - all that was left of a village he briefly called home, all that was left of the life he’d briefly shared with the Herald.

* * *

 _This was not happening,_ Kate thought. _This could not be happening._

Dying? She’d been prepared for dying. A templar blade to the gut had always been a likely death for her, considering that she was a mage. Suffocating under a blanket of snow? Kate would not have predicted such an end, but that death would be curiously fitting. The ice mage buried deep in her element? It was ironic - poetic, even. Kate could have laughed at that.

But _this_?

She was about to be killed by a Tevinter magister - one of the originators of the blight, one of the mages that had turned magic as evil as magic could get. This bastard was the reason people locked up mages in the first place. He was the cautionary tale the templars used every time mages began to talk about freedom.

Kate had already been inclined to hate the Elder One, but now she _really_ hated the Elder One.

If only she could fight him, Kate thought, wildly. Not that she was likely to win, but she would liked to have fought back all the same. As it was, the Elder One - Corypheus, as he called himself - was monologuing like a villain straight out of a Tethras novel. Meanwhile, Kate was was crawling on all fours, clutching at her wrist. Pain coursed through her, bright and sharp and unnatural. Kate felt as though she would faint away from the intensity of it. She struggled for consciousness, struggled to stand, struggled to raise her _head_ damn it. Kate was certain Cullen must have sent his flare by now. He was probably wondering what Void she was doing down here. It wasn’t as if there was anyone left in town to witness this mad interchange between her and the Elder One.

Strangest of all, Kate thought, was the way her mark seemed to respond to Corypheus’ call. No, she realized a moment later - it did not respond to Corypheus himself. Rather, it seemed connected to the orb in Corypheus’ hand. A thin line of light ran from that metal sphere to the mark and back again, as if her hand were a yo-yo at the end of a string. Every time that band of red pulsed, Kate felt the pain redouble.

More than pain, Kate now felt her will weaken. In a haze, Kate felt that her body was bending to this creature’s will - and that her mind was following suit. She seemed to hear a song - harsh and strong and wild. It reminded her of the sound of the templars, marching through the halls - of doors slamming at the end of corridors - of all things remote and stern and powerful.

Then, quite suddenly, there was silence again.

The silence was worse. Kate wanted that song. She needed that song from before. She closed her eyes so that she could hear it, let her breaths slow, let her shoulders relax. If only she went still, she thought, she could hear it one last time. She needn’t fight the Elder One anymore. He had the song. And the song… The song would be enough…

Kate would never know where she found the courage to fight back. Maybe it was that something reminded her of Coll. Maybe that was why, as her breaths faded and her head bowed, Kate thought she heard a different tune. She thought she heard a soft, lilting tune - like one of Nightingale’s hymns, or one of the Dalish airs that Coll sang to herself when she thought no one was listening. It wasn’t the Chant, though. It was too melancholy for that - an old, ancient sort of song about loss and hope and home. For a moment, Kate thought she heard all her friends singing it - Cullen and Robert and Coll and all of them together.

All Kate later remembered was this: In one moment, her mind was blank, empty of all sound. In the next, she felt like music burst through her, bold as magic itself. Kate felt like she had a fever. She felt like she’d been plunged into icy water. She felt laughter behind her lips and tears filled her eyes and Kate felt certain she’d done all this before.

Her eyes snapped open, and Kate yanked her left hand to her chest.

The mark _snapped._ Kate heard the audible crack of it - like when a broken bone is shoved roughly back into place. Kate screamed with pain, clutching at her wrist even more tightly. But when she looked down, the mark glowed green again. More than that, it glowed brighter than ever, set right in the center of her palm. For a moment, all her veins glowed green too - right through her skin, all the way up her arm. Then Kate focused hard, and squeezed her hand shut. The light went out - because she wanted it to.

Kate blinked.

She’d controlled the mark.

 _She_ had controlled the mark. Kate stretched her fingers, and the mark began to hum. She shut her fingers, and the mark flickered out. In discovering this mastery, Kate was so surprised she did nothing for a moment. She just stared, elated, at her hand. And that almost killed her.

With a snarl and two steps, Corypheus swooped over her. The thing hauled Kate up by her left arm, dragging her up until she was face to ruined face with the monster. Kate shouted in alarm, even as she heard the weird, magic voice scream:

“ _The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling!_ “

“You spoiled it with your own stupid stumbling!” Kate shouted back, too angry to be circumspect. “If you hadn’t picked this fight in the first place, none of this would have happened!”

She broke off there, for from this vantage, for just a moment, she thought she saw a lone figure staring up at her. For just the briefest moment, Kate thought she had seen Solas beyond that wall of flame - staring at her with a solemn, wondering expression. But when she looked again, all she saw was a lone dog running away through Haven, dodging the marauding templars it made off toward the Chantry.

“ _So be it,_ ” the Elder One said, shaking her so hard her head snapped back. “ _I will begin again._ “

With that, Corypheus tossed Kate aside, tossed her just as roughly as he had tossed Keran. Kate felt herself go flying, feet up, arms out, completely helpless. Then something smacked her back, and she fell heavily onto her face. Her forehead smacked the wood frame of the trebuchet, and the world around her began to dim.

The lever… Kate thought, fighting to stay conscious. She had to get to the lever. And the flare. Had Cullen sent the flare?

Kate looked up into the darkness, searching for light. There were no stars up there to orient her, no Alindra’s River to band the earth, no constellations to guide or remind of old stories. Even the breach seemed to have gone dark beside the fires of Haven. Kate’s vision swam as she gazed up at the moonlit mountains.

But then, so small Kate almost missed it, she saw something. It was movement rather than the light, and by the time she’d spotted the spark of red, it was gone.

Was that the flare, she wondered? Had she seen it, or imagined it?

Did it matter? Kate supposed it didn’t matter. She was the only person left alive down here - aside from the red templars now prowling onto the battlefield, surrounding the Elder One like blighted hyenas around a blighted lion. Keran lay dead at Kate’s feet, his sword loose in his grip. Kate didn’t know why, but she picked it up. Her own staff had been lost Maker only knew where out on that battlefield. With her other hand, Kate gripped the frame of the trebuchet, clambered up it as an infant struggles to stand. Behind her, the darkspawn-demon that was Corypheus watched her with pitiless eyes.

“ _Look at this_ ,” he said. “ _The interloper, the mistake, thinks to rise again_.”

“Rise again,” Kate murmured, speaking more to the siege machine than to the magister. “That’s right. That’s what I’m good at. That’s all I’ve ever been good at.”

Hadn’t Kate proved that throughout her life? She wasn’t the strongest or the bravest. She had fallen short so many times. But she always got up. And if this was the last time Kate stood before falling forever, then so be it. She would die standing.

“That’s what mortals do, you know,” Kate said, turning and pointing her sword at the Elder One. “Mortals stand up again. We stand up to tyrants like _you_.”

With that, Kate grabbed the trebuchet’s lever and shoved it down.

The trebuchet made a tremendous _WHOOSH_ , shuddering so hard Kate almost lost her footing. The payload went winging out into the night, and for a moment, both darkspawn-demon and dragon turned to watch it. Kate watched it stupidly as well, too tired to do anything else. She watched it fly, watched it fade away, watched in satisfied amazement as a blur of white _BOOMED_ out of the hill and began to fall toward the town. The avalanche gathered size, gathered speed…

“Oh shit,” Kate muttered, eyes wide.

The Elder One - Corypheus - seemed to realize the danger at the same time as she. It turned to her, reached out the orb in its hand, but this time, the mark stayed with Kate. The dragon shrieked, the Elder One reached out it’s spindly hand for her, and Kate turned and fled.

She couldn’t run with her knee in pain, so Kate gathered her magic and shot herself into the night, Fade-Stepping further and faster than she’d ever done before. She could hear the avalanche behind her, heard its roar like the waves of the sea. Kate slid to a rest on an outcropping of rock, then turned around to survey the damage. The dragon was pumping the air with its great wings. Something long and tall was gathered under it, clutched carefully in its claws. It seemed the Elder One had an escape plan as well.

“Blast!” Kate gasped, but the roar of the avalanche grew louder. The snow was still coming, smashing down trees, burying houses, and Kate shot herself forward again. But she was slower this time, and she didn’t go as far. The white wave of the avalanche was at her back now. Kate came sliding to the end of her magic. She didn’t have enough energy to cast another spell, couldn’t control the trajectory of her Fade-Step, couldn’t get her legs stretched properly, and Maker help her - _Maker help her_ \- but she hoped that the others had survived. Then Kate saw something approaching quickly - a dark hole in the ground with broken boards all around it, like a mouth with long, wooden teeth.

Kate tried to slow herself, tried to stop, but her magic gave out at the same time she reached the pit. She scrabbled at the icy boards, her fingers finding nothing to hold to, feet slipping away from under her. Then Kate was falling, tumbling into darkness. The air grew cold around her; wind whistled by her ears. She landed heavily, her head smacked the ground, and for a moment, Kate saw stars. They were the real stars - far overhead in the circle of sky. She realized she was looking up at the hole she’d fallen into. For a moment Kate heard it - the last line of that lyrical song.

Then darkness covered the stars, darkness covered Kate’s vision. She let her head drop, and there was silence.

* * *

It was far too quiet. Cullen heard nothing over the falling snow - not wind, not the creak of trees. Even the last of the refugees walked silently from the tunnel out into the hills. They shot nervous glances over at Cullen and the Chargers, put their heads together as they looked back down at what had once been Haven. But if they whispered together about what had just happened, Cullen did not hear them.

A minute ago, there had been a tremor as the missile hit the hillside. Though it hit a good quarter mile away from this spot, everyone had jumped at the impact. Then the hillside had sloughed away in a great roar, growing every louder as it tumbled down to bury the town.

Now, Cullen saw only a silvery sea of cloud below. He did not know how long it would take for the snow to settle. He did not know how long the survivors would take to reach them.

He did not know if there were, in fact, any survivors.

“Do you think she…?” Dorian began.

“I don’t know,” Cullen said. He shook himself, taking refuge in action.

“You’d best get going,” he told the waiting crowd. “Follow the others.”

“Yeah,” Bull said, “But what about…”

“Go on,” Cullen said, shortly. “I’ll hold this position.”

 _And I’ll wait for Kate,_ he thought, but he didn’t say that. If he acknowledged the hope, Cullen also had to acknowledge the despair:

Kate probably wasn’t coming. She probably hadn’t escaped.

“I ought to stay, at least,” Dorian said. “If she– If _they_ need a healer…”

As Dorian spoke, two figured emerged from the tunnel. It was Cassandra and Robert, and Cullen’s stomach dropped as he recalled that these two were the first he’d passed on his dash up the hillside. That meant they were the last of the escapees. The Seeker walked slowly, and Robert was stumbling so badly he could scarcely remain upright.

“Stop,” the young man whispered, blinking up at the stars. “Cassandra, we need to stop. We need to wait for Katie.”

“I don’t think she…” Cassandra began. Cullen shook his head. Cassandra looked up at the hillside, saw the evidence of what had just happened to Haven. She snapped her mouth shut, clearly unwilling to be the one to break the news to Robert.

“We should go,” she said, instead. Her voice shook as she spoke. Cullen turned to Dorian and pointed a gloved finger at Robert.

“This is Kate’s cousin, Robert,” Cullen told the mage. “If anyone needs healing, it’s him. See him up the hill and make sure he gets some rest. Sera, go with them. Bull, Chargers - all of you as well.”

Cullen hated his own voice just then, hated how dead it sounded. But there was nothing else to do except give orders. Kate would have wanted Robert to live, Cullen told himself. She would not want everyone standing about in the cold, risking frostbite for her sake.

“On you go,” Cullen said, pointing up the hill. “That’s an order,” he added, sharply.

Everyone began filing away without looking at Cullen. Sera muttered, “Jackboot,” as a parting shot, but no one else acknowledged him. Cullen stood there, fingers twitching, feeling ever more desperate as he gazed out into the night. He ought to start walking as well, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. Instead, he began running calculations in his head. After all, he thought, if Kate had run at a good clip from the trebuchet to the Chantry, then perhaps…

As if his math had summoned them, Cullen heard footsteps in the passage, and the clanking of heavy armor. Cullen started forward eagerly, the others turned to watch. A moment later, Morris burst out into the night. He carried someone upon his back, legs dangling down, arms limp. A step behind Morris came Solas, his face grim, his eyes wild.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen gasped, his chest swelling with hope. “You made it. She made it. You…” Morris set down his burden in the snow.

It was not Kate, but Coll. Solas dropped to his knees, began running glowing hands over the Dalish elf’s brow and neck. In the light of his magic, her tattoos seemed to glow faintly.

“She is fading,” Solas said, his voice catching a little. “I’ll give her what healing I can to stabilize her wounds, but we need to get her to shelter soon. Iron Bull,” Solas asked, looking up. “Can you carry Colleen?”

“Sure,” the giant said, striding forward and lifting Coll as if she weighed no more than a child. “But what about boss?”

“She told me to run,” Morris huffed. He was bent at the waist, breathing heavily. His brows were knitted in an expression of deep concern. “She told me to run,” he said again, chewing his lip. “And I think that was right. But I wanted to stay, ser. I wanted to stay, but she told me to go. She told me to save Coll.”

“And Kate?” Cullen asked, though his voice felt strangled. “Keran?”

“We could not reach them, Commander Cullen,” Solas said. “Not through the wall of blood-summoned Void-fire. I fear that Keran fell at once and Kate…” His eyes flashed with both fury and sorrow. “She lived at least long enough to save us.”

“What’s going on?” Robert asked from a short distance away. “What did he say about Kate? Maker, my ears are ringing, like I hear this song…”

“Come on, then Kate’s cousin,” Dorian said, turning back to Robert with false cheer. He drew Robert’s arm over his shoulder, so that both the mage and Cassandra were like crutches for Robert to lean on. “Off we go. Healing and walking. Always a tricky thing to manage at the same time. My, but you are a tall one, aren’t you?”

Cullen scarcely heard them leaving. He was dimly aware of the figures trailing off into the night. Morris and Solas followed Bull, who carried Colleen. Sera walked with the Chargers. Cassandra and Dorian and Robert were now a blur in the heavily falling snow. Still Cullen remained on the hillside, his hands shaking, felt his head pounding. It felt like withdrawal, Cullen mused, except he managed to stay upright.

They had survived, Cullen thought, dully. Thanks to Kate and Keran, they had survived.

He had survived.

Cullen had survived and his friends had died.

_Again._

Wave after wave of guilt crashed down upon Cullen. It was an avalanche on the inside, burying him in cold grief. The tangled-up thing in his chest was buried under the onslaught. For how many times had this happened? How many times had he been left at the end of a battle, left to remember the dead, left to find purpose and meaning all on his own? And how could he have lost Kate like that, anyhow, Cullen asked himself. He had only just found her - and now to loose her?

Cullen felt too numb to analyze these thoughts. Sorrow howled through his mind, chill as the wind that blew all around him. Cullen blinked his eyes against a swirl of snow, and when he looked again, he found he was not alone after all. Cole remained nearby, looking up at Cullen from under his ridiculous hat.

“Is she buried?” Cullen asked the spirit.

“Yes?” the boy spoke as if it were a question.

Cullen felt his throat grow tight.

“She was the Herald,” Cole said. Again, the words were almost an inquiry.

“She was more than that,” Cullen whispered.

The words seemed to wake up something within him. His buried, tangled-up heart constricted, pressed so hard against his ribcage that Cullen felt his bones were cracking. Kate had been more than the mark, he thought. She’d become more to him than a symbol of hope or an unexpected ally or even a friend. She was - she had been - more.

Cullen just hadn’t understood that until now.

“You regret it,” the spirit of compassion observed. “You know you did the right thing, but you regret it.”

Cullen nodded.

Then he made himself turn away from Haven. He made himself place one foot in front of the other. He made him do this again - and again - and again.

Step by frozen step, Cullen forced himself away from Haven - away from Kate - and trudged off into the mountains.


	40. Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kate walks in darkness and Cullen awaits the dawn

Kate lay in the dark, eyes closed, taking stock of all her many breaks and bruises. Her ribs hurt. Her back hurt. Her right knee throbbed. Her head felt like it had been walloped by a hammer and she strongly suspected she’d broken her arm in at least two places.

Still, Kate thought, she had survived. Pain proved she wasn’t dead. That had to be some sort of miracle.

 _Thank you Maker_ , Kate sighed.

So much for the good news. The bad news was that Kate was not only wounded, but stuck in a hole under Haven. She also had no idea how long she’d been lying here, unconscious in the dark. Kate vaguely remembered hearing music, but perhaps that had been a dream. All she knew now was that her friends were out there, running from red templars and most of them were wounded. She had to find them, Kate thought. She had to raise her head and…

“Owwww,” Kate groaned.

Whatever else she did, she would have to do it slowly. Just that one movement had hurt like the Void. Kate took a moment to catch her breath, then tried again. She started by opening her eyes.

Kate had expected to find herself in pitch darkness, but to her surprise, the cave was awash in a faint blue light. The air about her was damp and smelled faintly of storms. When Kate carefully turned her head to one side, she saw a shimmering pool of liquid just beyond her reach. It looked like crushed starlight upon the stone.

It was lyrium, Kate realized. One of the vials must have fallen out of her pocket and shattered.

Better not let that go to waste, Kate reasoned.

Kate rolled onto her side, her ribs screaming in protest. She paused there for breath, then shrugged her shoulder and inched toward the puddle. Pain shot through her arm, causing her to gasp. Kate squinted her eyes shut. Then she sucked in a breath and shuffled forward once more. Again came the pain; again came the gritting of teeth.

By inches, Kate edged over to the pool. She stretched out her neck and stuck out her tongue, like a baby bird angling for a worm. For a moment Kate hovered there, wondering if lyrium could freeze. She certainly hoped not. She had heard warnings about licking lamp-posts in winter, after all. But she needed healing and there was lyrium for the taking. So Kate put her mouth to the puddle and drank.

Energy jolted through her, hard and foreign. Kate shuddered, and forced herself to swallow. Maker, she hated lyrium, Kate thought. It was like drinking liquid iron. It granted power at the expense of sensitivity to the Fade. She couldn’t imagine why templars voluntarily drank the stuff.

Still shaking, Kate squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to imagine her veins dispersing that energy into her wounds. She focused on her throbbing head, then on the pain in her neck. Kate willed the lyrium to sooth her cracked ribs, to warm her freezing toes. That was as far as she got before the power faded. Then Kate levered herself over the lyrium once more.

Kate lapped at the puddle on the ground, carefully avoiding the shards of the broken vial. With each drop, Kate pushed healing magic into her back, her legs, her hands. Her right arm was still throbbing, but Kate knew she didn’t have mana or talent enough to heal the shattered bone. When she found herself swallowing more dirt than liquid, Kate decided she was done. She drew her legs up underneath her, and turned her attention to the mark upon her left hand.

Corypheus had called this an ‘anchor,’ Kate thought. And now, it actually looked like one. Before, the mark had flicked over Kate’s hand as a glowing green glob. Now, it had fully settled into her body, as much a part of her as vein or bone. It shone through her skin as a vibrant tracery, reminding Kate of an illustration she’d once seen in a book on Rivani folk-magic. According to the lore of palmistry, Kate’s life-line had been extended, as well as her wealth-line. Her love line was completely obscured by the glow.

How curious, Kate thought. She could even make the mark dim entirely. It responded to her will now, just like her own magic. She wondered if Corypheus had realized what he’d done. In trying to take the mark from her, he’d given her control over it. The thought made her lips curl in a sly, satisfied smile.

 _Take that, Elder One_ , she thought.

A shout echoed through the tunnels, and Kate looked up sharply.

 _Or not_ , she thought. It seemed she’d celebrated too soon. That had not sounded like a human voice. That had sounded like one of those red templars. Kate’s heart began to hammer. She did not want to get trapped down here with those monsters. She had control over the mark, but glowing veins would do little against attackers.

 _Stay calm_ , Kate told herself, breathing deeply. If someone had gotten into this tunnel, that suggested that there was a way back out. All Kate had to do was find the exit. Kate looked around, and saw only one tunnel leading out of this chamber. She also spotted Keran’s sword nearby, it’s edge glinted green in the light of the mark. Kate snagged the blade with her left hand, then realized the weapon was completely useless to her. She had never trained with blades, and her right arm was broken anyhow. Still, it seemed wrong to leave the sword behind. Kate stared down at the weapon for a moment, then slid the blade into her belt loop. Gingerly, Kate pushed herself to her feet.

Though her head spun and her feet felt heavy as stone, Kate stumbled off into tunnels. She dared not waste power on an illumination spell, so she held her left hand out, using the mark to light her way. The result was most unnerving. Weird shadows loomed before her; weird shadows crept in behind her. The walls were close around her, and the air smelled musty and damp. Kate’s felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She imagined that someone - or something - was trailing her, just waiting to strike.

Shivering now, Kate made herself shuffle along, never stopping or looking back. Down one tunnel she went, through a room and on into yet another passage. This led to a largish chamber. There were several doorways here, all leading off into narrow passages. One door was shored up with wooden boards. Boards meant mines, Kate thought, and that seemed as likely as way out as any. She chose that path and headed onward. The tunnel listed slightly left for a time, and then Kate stumbled out into yet another chamber. It, too, was surrounded with doorways, and the passageway furthest to the right was lined with wooden boards.

Wait, Kate thought with a frown. Was this the same room as before? Was she going in circles? Maker’s breath, this was no good. Kate’s sense of direction had always been poor, her tracking skills non-existent. She struggled with pathfinding even when she had maps and landmarks for guidance. Underground and in darkness, she felt completely helpless. What was more, Kate already felt exhausted. So much for the healing power of lyrium.

Still, she had to keep moving. The longer she wandered down here, the more likely she was to run into an enemy. Kate chose a different passage - the one directly in front of her, and hoped it led her onward. After a moment, Kate found herself breathing easier. This looked new, she thought. The passage here was square in shape, and it led to a natural culvert. This led to a long, narrow room, and on into a mine-like tunnel. A few minutes later, Kate stumbled into a bright, airy space. The cave was roughly circular in shape, with icicles hanging all around and snow drifting in the corners. Moonlight streamed down from an opening in the high ceiling.

Well, Kate thought, coming up short. This was definitely new. It was a pity she had no rope, or she might be able to climb out of here. Still, Kate reasoned, if that was moonlight, then she must have left buried Haven behind. It shouldn’t be too much further now. Kate looked around the room and saw several tunnels, all leading off into uninviting shadow.

 _Lovely,_ Kate thought grimly. Another crossroads. Still, she meant to get out of here, even if she had to try each passage in turn. With a sigh of determination, Kate limped forward into the room.

Something else limped into the room as well.

They had been hiding just inside the opposite tunnel: demons in long robes and red templars in dented armor. There were at least half a dozen of them, and they had spotted Kate before she spotted them. Kate gasped; the demons shrieked. Their voices were high-pitched and bloodless.

The templars and demons rushed for her. Kate stumbled back. Her right knee collapsed and she fell backward onto the stone.

Pain shot through her arm and ribs, but the fall probably saved her life. An arrow flew through the air where Kate had been a moment before. The templars were running for her, the demons streaming in… Frightened and unthinking, Kate flung her left hand out before her and willed for ice.

She got fire.

A blaze shot out from Kate’s palm, causing the demons to shriek and the red templars to hide their eyes behind their glowing hands. And in that moment, Kate felt the strangest sensation in her left hand. It came from the mark - a sense of stronger power, just waiting to be unleashed.

So Kate unleashed it.

A rift split the air, small and precise and roaring in intensity. Kate cried out in surprise, shuffling back on her bottom. She pressed herself herself up against the cave wall, curling away from the thing she’d created. She had not meant to summon _that_ , Kate thought wildly.

As she watched, the fade-tear sucked the demons into the rift, lifted the armored templars right off of their feet. The roaring grew louder. Kate’s ears popped violently. She gasped as the vortex whirled and crackled, as the templars and demons were pulled into the rift. The creatures screamed and spun and shrank, folding up on themselves in mid-air. Their long fingers clawed at the single shaft of moonlight.

The rift disappeared with a soft _pop_. All that remained was Kate, her glowing mark, and the quiet. Kate blinked.

“Holy Maker,” she whispered.

Kate held up her left hand and gazed in amazement at her palm. What _was_ that? The mark had just destroyed a small host of demons and templars in one spell - a spell she hadn’t even meant to cast! And where in Andraste’s name had she _sent_ them, Kate wondered? Had she sent them to the Void? Bodily? Kate couldn’t imagine what a handful of red templars might do in the Fade. Or had she killed them? Or perhaps she’d crushed them, or transmuted them into some other form, or…

Whatever she’d done, Kate had taxed herself to the limit. Fatigue hit Kate in a wave, and she sank back against the wall of the cave.

 _Oh help_ , Kate thought, dimly. Great power came at great price, or so the Circle enchanters always said. It seemed they were right. After channeling that energy, Kate felt like her body was ready to collapse.

No collapsing, Kate told herself. She had friends to find, friends to save. She had to find them tonight, if possible.

Kate groped for the lyrium vial in her pocket. If ever she needed the stuff, it was now. But Kate’s hand came away empty. She’d lost the lyrium, Kate realized with a groan. She wasn’t certain if the bottle had fallen out of her pocket during the battle, or some time during her stumbling in the passages. She didn’t see it anywhere nearby. Worse still, when Kate looked around the room at the possible exits, she couldn’t remember what door she’d come in from. She was well and truly lost now.

 _No,_ Kate thought. And her thought swiftly turned to a prayer:

 _Please Maker,_ Kate begged, _I understand I’ve had more than my fair share of salvation already. But please, just help me find my friends. Just help me…_

At first, there was no answer. Kate’s eyes began to close. The room went dark and fuzzy, the moonlight grew dim. A long way off, Kate thought she heard another echoing scream and then…

And then Kate heard music.

Kate squinted into the room, but saw no one there. Still, the sound was unmistakable. She heard a song, and it was just like the song she’d heard while battling Corypheus. It was a curious tune, both lilting melody and somber incantation at once. It made Kate think of a child, dancing and laughing in the Grand Cathedral. The song also made Kate think of home, yet that image made less sense. For it didn’t make Kate think of Trevelyan House or the Ostwick Tower or any place she’d ever been before. Rather, it made Kate long for a home she’d never been to, a place she couldn’t even picture in her mind. But it made her think of her friends. She pictured Coll’s laughing face, and Robert’s knowing wink, and Cullen, quiet and appraising, wearing just the hint of a smile.

Kate felt her strength return. She felt magic surge within her once more. Her head cleared, and she now realized the music was coming from the passage just to her right.

Should she follow the sound, Kate wondered? It seemed an absurd method of navigation. Yet, what other choice did she have? She didn’t imagine the red templars were playing such music. They did not seem the symphonic type.

Though it struck her as slightly mad, Kate rose and followed the song. On and on she walked, trying to hum the tune as she went. She never could quite catch the melody, however, and finally fell silent. Kate wandered in near-darkness, through chambers and passages, through places where light filtered down from cracks in the rocks above. She passed through places where the darkness was so thick it seemed to press in around her like a shroud. It seemed to her that where the tunnel was darkest, the song grew the sweetest. And then, just as the melody rose on a crescendo, Kate saw light before her. She picked up her pace, hopping and stumbling down the tunnel, rushing for the end of the caves. She stepped out into the night, and there Kate discovered the source of the song:

It was not music. It was a storm.

Kate’s heart sank at the sight. Swirling snow greeted her. Moonlight illuminated a landscape of silver-gray drifts. Kate blinked her eyes against the biting wind, fighting a cry of frustration. What was this, Kate thought angrily? She thought someone - a refugee, a mage, perhaps even the Maker himself - had been leading her out of that underground maze. But now Kate found the ‘out’ was as dangerous as the ‘in.’ Instead of walls and tunnels, Kate stood in a labyrinth of empty mountains and unseen ravines and riotous weather. She couldn’t go out into this storm. She’d catch her death out there.

But even as Kate thought that, she heard another scream. The sound echoed from back inside the tunnel - another demon wail.

Wonderful, Kate thought. She was trapped between cave and wasteland, unable to go back, unwilling to go on. She dared not rely on the mark to save her a second time. Besides, what help was a mark against a storm? And which was worse, Kate wondered? Being ripped apart by demons in the dark, or freezing all alone in the mountains?

As she stood there wondering, the music returned. Now it sounded from out in the snow, as if someone were playing the tune in the gale.

Kate gave a short laugh of disbelief. Was this some sort of test, she wondered? If so, Kate thoroughly disapproved. She didn’t like unannounced examinations. They always struck her as vaguely unfair. Kate frowned, looking back toward the tunnel. Go on or go back, Kate wondered? Going on seemed like an insane leap of faith.

Kate stopped at that.

 _Well then, Maker_ , she thought. _Onward it is._

Kate turned toward the storm and squared her shoulders. In her left hand, she summoned up a tongue of fire. It danced above her green-glowing palm, bright and cheerful against the night. Kate let it grow into a small blaze, so that she held a little fire in her hand. This would keep her warm, Kate reasoned, a portable furnace to stave off the chill. The music grew louder, beckoning her on into the dark.

Kate followed, guided by song and shielded by flame.

* * *

Cullen stood on a hill above camp and stared out into the night. The mountain landscape was still and quiet. Not a snowflake had stirred since the storm ended hours ago. Cullen shrugged his shoulders against the cold and tried to think of something - anything - that might keep him busy until dawn.

Pitch tents, he mused? No, that was already done. The make-shift camp below was as large as a small village by now. Distribute rations? Unnecessary, he thought. No one had much appetite at present. Perhaps he should see to the wounded? No, no. The healers had things well in hand. They had already asked him to stop wandering around the sick-tents aimlessly. So Cullen had come up here, waiting for the scouts to report back from their search through the mountains. All able-bodied soldiers had been sent out to scout the passages, and to look for possible survivors. Not that anyone expected there to be survivors. But still one had to look, because…

Well, one had to look.

Cullen swallowed hard.

Firewood, he thought. Yes, they definitely needed more firewood. He could go collect some. This wasn’t exactly a job for the commander, but everyone could do their part, yes? Those campfires would need more fuel eventually. Of course, he thought, that would mean returning to camp. That would mean listening to the people weeping in their tents, looking at the shocked and stricken faces. That would mean he would have to face the same loss, the same guilt, the same wonder as to where everything had gone wrong…

No, Cullen thought, shaking his head. He didn’t have time to wonder about these things. He needed to get back to work. Perhaps not firewood, then. Perhaps he would just get his reports and find a nice quiet spot to go through them….

Wait, no. His reports had all been buried with Haven. They had been buried with Kate.

Maker, Cullen thought, swallowing hard. Just thinking Kate’s name made his chest hurt. Just thinking of her…

He would start new reports, Cullen told himself. With this resolution firmly in mind, Cullen turned on his heel and began marching down the hill. He would begin by finding a paper and a pen - that search ought to keep him busy for a while. Then he would write out lists and…

 _Kate wrote lists_ , his mind decided to remind him. Cullen stopped at that, coming to a halt in the snow.

 _Damn_ , he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. When he thought of how hard she had worked these past few months, when he thought of her face…

No, he told himself. He could not do this. He could not fall idle. It was disrespectful to her, and it would be fatal to him. He had to keep moving. He needed to make his feet move…

Yet his feet would not move. Cullen’s entire body felt heavy and cold. But when he opened his eyes, he saw that someone was moving toward him. Cassandra came stomping up the hill, looking over her shoulder every few feet to glare back down at the camp. She reached him, frowned, and said without preamble:

“Any word?”

Cullen did not have to ask her what she meant. “Not yet,” he replied. He wished he had a different answer.

Cassandra gave a long sigh. She came to stand beside him and Cullen turned as well. They now stood looking up the hill, toward the direction the Inquisition had fled from. The hillside was smooth and white, for all their bootprints had been wiped away by the earlier storm. It would make them hard to track, Cullen thought. He supposed that was a good thing.

“What now?” Cassandra asked him, bluntly. Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. _Andraste’s tears, don’t ask me that, Cassandra_ , he thought. But aloud, he simply replied: “Wait.”

Cassandra huffed in disgust. Cullen decided to change the subject.

“How is Robert Trevelyan?” he asked. “And Colleen? Are they stable?” If Kate was gone, the least he could do was ask after her friends, Cullen thought. At his question, Cassandra scowled.

“Alive,” she replied. “Sleeping.” She sniffed, then folded her arms stiffly over her chest.

“I am now ashamed that I did not stay behind with Katerina,” Cassandra announced. “I worried overmuch about her cousin, when it is clear he was not the priority. I should not have allowed …”

She broke off there and shook her head. “But why was I so worried?” Cassandra murmured, so soft Cullen almost missed it. “I scarcely even know him.” She shook her head, then concluded:

“Robert Trevelyan makes me make no sense.”

It was an odd statement. Yet, Cullen felt he was in no position to judge. This night had made everyone act in strange ways. Cassandra had left the battlefield. He had been forced to flee. And Kate had given her life to save them. That had been the strangest act of all.

And the bravest, Cullen thought.

He felt a sudden pricking at the corners of his eyes. Surreptitiously, he ran a hand over his face, checking for tears. When his glove came back dry, and he let his hand drop.

“We all wish that battle had gone differently,” Cullen said, when he could speak again.

“Yet most of us survived,” Cassandra replied.

“Most of us,” Cullen agreed, quietly.

“But not her,” Cassandra said.

Cullen felt his throat go tight. He willed himself to breathe in and out. Cassandra sighed and stomped her feet in the snow.

“How will we manage without the Herald, I do not know,” she said. Cullen did not reply. He could not.

Then, from below, came an odd sound. A panting noise echoed up the hill, followed by shouts. Cullen turned to find a small crowd of people racing up the hill toward him and Cassandra. It was Colleen, Cullen saw. She was followed by Solas, who was followed by Krem. Trailing after came Iron Bull and Leliana.

“Coll, you must rest!” Solas cried after the Dalish elf. “The Herald would not want…”

“Kate can speak for her own self,” came the sharp reply. “An’ she will, once I find her in this storm…” Coll stopped short of Cullen, blinking out into the dark.

“No storm,” she said, nodding. “That’s good. Alright, someone find me a halla. Or a horse. A horse’ll do. I’ll go lookin’ for her. I find her and heal her…”

The elf swayed on her feet and fell heavily onto her bottom. Krem scowled and ran forward to lift Coll up by the armpits.

“Come on, Coll,” the mercenary said. “You only just got healed.”

“An’ I’m gonna use me health to find me Kate,” Coll replied, clutching at Krem. She stumbled in the snow and nearly fell again.

“A more stubborn woman I’ve never met,” Solas muttered.

“You spend all yer time in the Fade,” Coll sneered. “Yeh don’t know real women.” Solas did not reply to this. Instead, he came to Krem’s side and tried to help Coll to her feet.

“Feck off, you,” Coll said. She struggled to rise and bat away Solas’ hands all at the same time. “Oi, templar,” she called to Cullen. “Where’s your search party?”

“Out,” Cullen replied curtly. “And no, you may not join them in your state.”

And even though he fully anticipated the elf’s anger, Cullen still flinched when Coll shouted: “In me state? Feck you! That’s shite! All of this is shite! Like _you_ ,” she snarled, pointing at Solas. “You’re shite! Feckin’ coward, runnin’ away from Kate an’ takin’ me with yeh.”

“It was Morris who saved you, elf,” Cassandra corrected her.

“Feck ‘em both!” Coll snapped. “We shoulda stayed in Haven!”

“You would have died,” Solas replied. His voice was calm, though his eyes narrowed. “Your friend has saved your life.”

“Kate saved bollocks!” Coll shouted back. “I don’t care about me life, I care about me friends! An’ _you_ templar,” she cried, pointing up at Cullen. “Yeh great geebag-scratching _durgan’lin_ of a Chantry arse-licker! Runnin’ teh save yer own skin, not carin’ about anyone but yer troops…”

Cullen pressed his lips together and willed himself not to react to the Dalish’s jabs. The woman was grieving, he told himself. The woman was Kate’s friend…

“Let me go lookin’,” Coll insisted, struggling to rise. “I’ll bring our Kate back. You’ll see.”

“You can’t even walk, Coll,” Krem pointed out. The elf fell into the snow yet again with an elvish curse. Then she huffed a braid out of her face and began to crawl.

“I’ll go how I must,” Coll announced.

“You’ve gotta admire her spirit,” Krem murmured, looking to Iron Bull.

“Surprised it hasn’t killed her yet,” the Bull replied.

“Mistress Coll, you must rest,” Leliana told the elf. “We need every healer we can get, and with you still injured…”

“I’m not injured!” Coll yelled.

“Come on now, Coll,” Krem said patiently, crouching down beside her as she crawled along. “Don’t get yourself killed for nothing.”

“It ain’t nothing!” Coll cried. “It’s Kate! She’s still out there. She _has_ to be.”

But judging by her desperate tone, Cullen suspected like Coll didn’t quite believe that. And though he tried to ignore her, every word Coll spoke felt like a knife to Cullen’s gut.

“She’s waitin’ on me,” the elf said, pointing out into the dark. “An’ I’m not gonna leave her. I _can’t_ leave her. Who’ll look out for her if not me? Not you lot, that’s for feckin’ sure! You all used her fer yer rifts and then threw her at a monster! Like a bone tossed at a dog! That’s how yeh treated her. It’s _you_ what killed her, templar,” she said, speaking directly to Cullen now. “I saw yeh do it! You left her teh die in Haven. Yeh ran when yeh should have stayed. So if you’re gonna keep me from Kate now…”

“She’s _buried_ , elf!” Cullen shouted at last.

Cullen reached the end of his patience, and the words fell hard from his lips.

It was as though he’d set of another avalanche. Bull hung his head; Leliana’s eyes flashed sorrow before she turned away. As for Coll, she stared at Cullen for a long moment.

Then Coll burst into tears. She curled in on herself, her tattooed face covered by her tattooed hands. Krem tried to reach for her with a whispered, “Come on now…” But Coll recoiled from him. She raised her face up to the sky and she _screamed_ into the night.

“Maker,” Cassandra said, as if embarrassed. Solas flinched and looked away. Leliana gazed on in silent concern and Krem tried to reach out to touch Coll’s shoulder. Iron Bull just muttered “Shit.”

Cullen fled. He turned on his heel and began marching up the hill.

He could not watch Coll cry, Cullen thought. He did not begrudge the elf her sorrow, but neither could he bear to witness it. As it was, Cullen felt dangerously close to suffocation. His hands shook, his teeth tingled. He felt a pain in the bridge of his nose and an aching in his lower back. It felt like withdrawals, Cullen realized, and that terrified him.

He had survived battles before, Cullen thought. He had survived torments far worse than battles. Yet he’d always had a draught of lyrium to stabilize him in the morning. It’s bright energy had numbed his pain and softened the hard edge of memory. But to face this loss without it - without any comfort…

Cullen stumbled a few feet further before his feet stopped moving. Coll’s muffled sobs echoed from far behind him, but Cullen remained silent. He stood there, below the rise of the hilltop, and looked up to the vaulted heavens. Tears gathered in Cullen’s eyes, but did not fall.

What happened now, Cullen wondered? What happened to the Inquisition? What happened to his scattered and leaderless troops? And what happened to _him_? What use was a commander without a fortress, without an army, without a mission?

And what would he do without Kate? The question had Cullen’s chest aching once again. The woman had stood at the center of everything the Inquisition had done. Now she was gone. Now her spirit wandered the Fade, seeking the Maker and his Bride.

Surely the Maker would find her, Cullen thought. The Maker would gather Kate to his side. For her sacrifice, Kate deserved nothing less. It was the living who deserved pity, Cullen thought. The living were left to dwell in darkness, alone and empty, praying for dawn.

Prayer, Cullen thought. There had to be comfort in prayer. He’d sought comfort in the Chant many times before. It had been his refuge when all other walls failed. And now, Cullen reached for that bulwark again:

“Though all before me is shadow,” he whispered. “Yet shall the Maker be my guide…”

The words seemed to stick in his throat and the tune fell flat. Cullen thought the verse in his mind instead, and the music rose in his mind:

_Maker carry her to your side. Let not your servant be left to wander the shifting roads of the Fade alone…_

His prayer ended there, at least in lyrical form. Instead, music rose within him. What Cullen felt went far beyond words. He imagined himself holding his insides up to the starry heavens, begging for the pain to stop. In reality, his hands remained fisted at his sides, his brows drawn, his head tipped upward. He stood there for a long time, and the night became cold around him.

And then Cullen heard music.

At first he thought it was just in his mind - just his memory of the Chant. But then Cullen thought he heard a sound _out there_ in the night. He looked up and saw light growing swiftly along the hillside above him. That was not the sunrise, Cullen thought. The night was too dark and the light came too swiftly. If that was torchlight, it had to be a whole company of soldiers approaching. But before Cullen could think to draw his sword, the source of the light revealed itself.

Cullen’s mouth dropped open in amazement. His arm fell limp to his side.

A pillar of flame blazed before him, like an arrow pointing down from heaven. Standing inside the inferno was a woman. Flame danced over her body as if she stood upon a pyre, but she was not consumed by it. Rather, it cocooned her, protected her. Her bright, short hair whipped about her face, and her left hand glowed with a pulsing green light.

Cullen felt his heart pounding. It wasn’t possible, he thought. He wanted it to be possible, but it wasn’t actually possible…

The flames began to fade, and the woman’s face shone visible in the moonlight.

“It’s her!”

Cullen heard his voice before he realized he’d shouted, was running before he even realized his feet had left the ground. His arms pumped the air, his feet pounded up the snowy incline. Because it _was_ her, he thought wildly. It was her.

It was Kate.

From the shouts behind him, Cullen guessed that the others had noticed Kate as well. But he had a head start. He reached Kate just as the flames faded entirely. Kate was left standing there, dim and frail as the smoking wick of a snuffed candle. She swayed on her feet, then dropped heavily to her knees. Cullen skidded to a stop in front of her. He knelt there in the snow before her, kneecap to kneecap.

Then Cullen threw his arms around her and drew Kate up against his armored chest.

“Ow,” Kate hissed, but Cullen scarcely heard her. His heart was hammering and his hands were shaking at Kate’s back. The tangled-up something in his chest seemed to have caught Kate’s fire, for he felt burning hot. Cullen’s mind was whirling with questions of ‘how’ and ‘why’ and prayers of thanks and gratitude. But all he whispered aloud was:

“It’s you.”

“Hi,” Kate whispered back.

Her breath was soft and warm by his ear. Cullen shuddered, though not from cold. He drew back, holding her at arm’s length. Once again, he found he could not form words. But this time, the emotion silencing him was not sorrow, but a reverent, grateful joy.

“I found you,” Kate told him. She sounded weary, but also quite pleased with herself. Cullen blinked back tears, but found himself running his thumb along Kate’s dry cheek.

“That you did,” he said. “Found me and saved me. I mean…” He cleared his throat. “Found _us_. Saved all of us.”

Kate opened her mouth as if to speak, but she didn’t get the chance. Someone came stumbling over and slammed heavily into the snow beside her, whooping loud enough to deafen anyone.

“Kate! You great lucky _feck_!” Coll snared her friend in her tattooed arms and gave her a tight hug.

“Coll!” Kate cried. “Thank the Maker you— Ow, ow, ow! I’m broken, Coll. My arm’s broken. Please be careful.”

“Sorry lass, sorry!” Coll said. She immediately pulled away to inspect Kate’s arm. “Ah, feck me but I’m wantin’ teh hug yeh and heal yeh and _hit_ yeh all at once,” the elf said. “Only I can’t do none on ‘em. Oh, Kate-lass! I thought you were dead! I was bawlin’ me eyes out and… Ah, look on yeh! You’re shiverin’ with cold!”

“Here,” Cullen said. He quickly unwound the mantle from around his waist and took his cloak from off of his shoulders. He wrapped it about her shoulders, taking care not to jostle her injured arm.

“That’s right,” Kate said, blinking at him dazedly. “The armor comes off. You look so much smaller without it.”

And you look far too frail in the snow, Cullen thought. But rather than say this, he fluffed the fur about her face and began to peel off his gloves. He handed the gloves over to Kate, who took them with a soft “Thank you.” She put them on, and they were far too big for her. Cullen felt a strange surge within him. Seeing Kate wear his clothing was doing odd things to his insides.

“I thought you were buried,” Cullen told her, ignoring these feelings and tucking the mantle around her shoulders. “Cole said…”

“ _Cole_ said?” Coll rounded on Cullen. “The feck are you gettin’ yer facts from Cole and speakin’ ‘em like they’re true? Everyone knows yeh can’t take a spirit’s word on it. They’re always sayin’ one thing and meanin’ ten things else.”

“He seemed quite direct in this case,” Cullen frowned.

“Well, I was buried,” Kate put in. “Sort of. I fell into a hole - a tunnel. Took me a while to find my way out.”

Coll gasped, grabbing Kate’s good arm. “Feck me, Kate! That were a close call.”

“Too close,” Cullen agreed tightly. To think that the only thing that had saved Kate was an open pit and random chance. Or was it perhaps something more, he wondered?

“Thank the Maker,” a voice whispered behind him. It was Cassandra, and Cullen looked up to see that everyone else on the hillside had crowded in around them. Krem and Bull were both grinning, Cassandra looked completely stunned. Leliana had tears in her eyes, and gazed at Kate with something approaching reverence. Only Solas stood at a distance, wary and watchful.

“ _The Lady of Sorrow, armored in Light_ ,” Leliana whispered, “ _Holding in her left hand the scepter of Redemption_ …” She broke off, then pointed at Kate’s still-glowing mark. “I told the world you were chosen by the Maker,” the Nightingale murmured. “Yet I did not truly believe.”

“It was a lot like something out of the Chant, wasn’t it?” Krem chuckled nervously.

It was, Cullen thought. But he didn’t speak this thought aloud. He trusted in the Maker’s plans. He always had. But over the years, Cullen had grown wary of ascribing divine meaning to any one event. It might be that this was providence. It might just be very good luck. Cullen could never tell the difference between the two. Though where Kate was concerned, providence and fortune always seemed to run together.

“Sure however yeh did it, yeh _won_ , Kate!” Coll shouted, casually draping her arm over Kate’s shoulders. “You won! ‘Gainst a feckin’ magister no less! Ah, and here’s me missin’ all the good stuff at the end! They say there was magic talk an’ everyone was terrified. Oh, but healin’!” Coll cried, as Kate slumped to one side. “Look at you! You’re a sight…”

“I’m more than a sight,” Kate replied breathlessly. “I feel quite woozy. Please excuse me everyone, but I think I’m about to pass out again…”

If she wanted everyone to panic, Kate had said exactly the right thing. Coll tried to summon a healing spell, only to be shouted at by both Krem and Leliana. At the same time, Cullen reached for Kate, saying, “Let me carry you.” But his recently-healed right shoulder twinged in protest and he grunted in pain. “I will get her,” Cassandra said, reaching for Kate, but Iron Bull just snorted and said:

“Come on, guys. Seriously?” The qunari gathered Kate in his arms before anyone could object.

“Whooop!” Kate cried, grabbing onto Bull’s harness with her left hand. “You’re carrying me like a baby.” She blinked at him, her eyes unfocused, then looked down at the snow below. “I’m a very long baby,” she added as an afterthought.

“Yep,” Bull smirked. “Come on, boss. Everyone is going to be glad to see you. Let’s turn this shit night into something to celebrate.”

Bull tromped away down the hill toward camp, with Kate bundled safely in his arms. The others were left to scramble after. This, Cullen thought with annoyance, was becoming something of a trend with Bull. He hoped it did not continue.

“Did you see her?” Coll laughed to Solas, her voice carrying over all the hillside. “She was like that shem Andraste with that spell of hers! Oh, these Chantry folk are gonna shite themselves now! You just watch.”

“I am watching, Colleen” Solas replied quietly. “I’ve been watching.”

* * *

Kate’s head was still pounding, and she felt decidedly dizzy. She recalled only fragments of her journey here: memories of snow and wind and the occasional light in the dark. She had walked for a time, then woke as if from sleep and started walking again. And there had been fire. Kate had cast a spell, of course. She remembered that part clearly. But she should have run out of mana after a few minutes. Instead, the flames had burned without ceasing. The blaze had grown and encircled her. At times, the light even seemed to carry her through the darkness. And there had been music. Kate remembered music.

The music had led her to Cullen.

Thank the Maker for Cullen, Kate thought dreamily. She snuggled into his mantle, breathing deeply. The fur smelled of pine and sweat. Kate liked the smell very much. She sighed, relaxing into a boneless state of relief. Iron Bull’s steps rocked her as if she was in a cradle and she was certain Coll was trailing after her. Everyone was alive and well and…

Wait. Robert. Was Robert alright? Had she asked about Robert?

“Robert?” Kate asked, her voice rough and groggy. Iron Bull answered her, his voice rumbling right by her ear.

“He’s okay. He’s sleeping.”

Kate sent up a silent prayer of thanks and gratitude. All she said aloud was: “Yay.”

Bull snorted at her weak cheer. Kate nuzzled more deeply into Cullen’s cloak. From nearby, Kate now heard voices. They came as gasps, cries of alarm and whispers of “She returned!” and “…shielded in flame!” “…Andraste herself…” and “…sent by the Maker…”

“No, no,” Kate murmured, trying to turn her head to the crowd. “Not sent by the Maker. Just saved by Him. Saved by the song…”

“They won’t believe you,” Bull told her. “They wanna believe your crazy-ass goddess dumped you down on the hillside, so they’re gonna damn well believe it.”

“Prophet,” Kate corrected. “She’s our crazy-ass prophet.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one everybody’s gonna turn to, boss,” Bull said. “Your god and his prophet have been way too quiet for ‘em. They’re lookin’ to you.”

“No,” Kate winced. “That’s blasphemy. Don’t want them looking to me.”

“Too bad, boss,” Bull snorted. “You’re the one who stopped a monster.”

“I just stood back up again, that’s all. Like you told me to.”

“Of course you did, boss,” Bull said. As he spoke, he laid Kate gently upon something soft and warm. A bedroll, she realized a moment later. She relaxed upon the blankets, here eyes still closed.

“How many lived?” Kate asked, hoping to get more information from Iron Bull. “How many did we save?”

A different voice answered her:

“Two hundred and twenty-six,” came the clipped, Ferelden reply.

 _Cullen,_ Kate thought, smiling. Though her eyes remained closed, she turned her face toward the sound.

“Two hundred and twenty-six?” she repeated.

“There are more out in the field, of course. Several hundred out in the Hinterlands. But that’s a head-count of the ones who made it to this camp. That means eighty-four dead or unaccounted for in the fighting.”

Kate’s smile faded.

“We’ll hold a memorial,” she told him. Cullen didn’t answer that. Kate took another breath, and asked:

“Are we safe here? Any sign of Corypheus?”

“Sure, but that’s our Kate,” Kate heard Coll’s voice say. “Dragged in half dead and she’s still wonderin’ about all the details of the assignment, wonderin’ if she passed the test.”

“I think I did pass,” Kate murmured, thinking of her choice back there in the storm.

“Passed?!” Coll laughed. “Kate, yeh fecked up a _magister_ tonight. I’m thinkin’ yeh passed any test anyone ever set yeh. Now as for healin’, they _say_ I’m not supposed to do magic for a day or so…”

“And they’re right about that, Coll-dear,” a new voice spoke. “If you heal your friend, you’ll undo all the work that Solas and I did for _you_. Please do be calm and try to rest.”

“Ah, feck. Alright,” Coll grumbled.

“Is that Vivienne?” Kate murmured.

“The same,” the enchanter said. She laid a slim, warm hand on Kate’s brow.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Vivienne,” Kate said, slurring her words.

“Andraste bless you, darling,” Vivienne replied. “What you did for us tonight… Lydia would have been so proud of you.”

“Lydia,” Kate murmured. After all this death, she’d almost forgotten about the loss of her mentor so many months ago. But maybe Lydia _would_ be proud. Maybe Lydia knew about Kate’s actions in Haven somehow. It was a nice thought.

 _Thank you Maker,_ Kate thought absently. _I wish it had all gone differently, but still, thank you…_

Maybe that was odd, Kate thought. Perhaps it was strange to wish for a different path and accept the journey all the same. But at the moment, she was too tired to reason differently.

“Good Maker, darling!” Vivienne cried at her side. “What _did_ you do to your arm? You there, please. I’m going to need several injury kits if you don’t mind. Plenty of warm water. Hurry now.”

Warm, healing magic flooded Kate’s side and she found herself growing even more drowsy. Kate forced her eyelids open. She spotted Vivienne beside the bed. The enchanter’s face was regal and serene in the light of her healing spell. A short distance away, Coll grabbed Krem by the arm and pointed to Kate in excitement. The mercenary grinned. Behind them both, Solas frowned. Cassandra and Leliana were talking together under the awning of the tent, and Iron Bull shooed away a crowd of onlookers.

Then Kate spotted him. Cullen sat on the ground, leaning against the tent-post. One of his legs was out before him, the other bent at an angle with his elbow propped upon it. His face was cast in shadow, so Kate could not see his expression. Kate smiled at him weakly, and let sleep take her.

* * *

Cullen did not remember falling asleep. He scarcely remembered sitting down in the first place. So when he woke to feel something creeping up his shoulders, he started at once. Cullen reached for his sword, but found his scabbard was empty. He groped about for a hilt.

“It’s just me!” a voice whispered.

Cullen blinked, and the tent came in to sudden focus. A candle stood on a nearby table, giving the space a glowing light. Far brighter was the web of green lines before him. It was Kate’s hand, and there, kneeling over him, was Kate herself.

Cullen pushed himself up to sitting at once. The events of the night came back to him, and Cullen shook his head.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked her pressing his thumb and forefinger to his eyes.

“A few hours, I think,” she replied. “It’s not quite morning.”

“You should be resting,” he told her, letting his hand drop.

“I was,” she said. “Only I had a nightmare. Fire and suffocating and… Never mind. I woke and saw you lying on the ground and I thought you might want this.”

Kate held something out to him. It was his furred mantle, Cullen realized. She had been trying to cover him as he slept. Cullen felt unaccountably warmed by that. It seemed quite intimate, really.

Kate handed Cullen his cloak and his gloves as well. He folded the cloak over one arm and slipped the gloves into his pocket.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Thank you for lending them to me,” Kate replied politely.

“It’s nothing,” Cullen said. He drew his knees under him so that he was kneeling. He and Kate now sat as they had before on the hillside, kneecap to kneecap. But here the ground was bare and warm, and the candlelight flickered over them.

“Oh, and there’s this,” Kate said, reaching for something and setting it before her. “It’s Keran’s sword. I ended up with it, but I didn’t know what to do with it. I thought perhaps…”

She trailed off as Cullen took it. The hilt felt heavy in his bare hand, and sorrow rose within him.

Poor Keran, he thought. That boy had survived so many near misses in the past. To die now…

“Maker guide him,” Cullen murmured.

Kate watched Cullen, her eyes shining in the candlelight.

“He was brave,” she said, softly. “They were all so brave.”

Cullen swallowed against the tightness in his throat.

“They were,” he agreed.

Cullen considered the templar-issue weapon. It looked exactly like the one he’d lost down in Haven. He stared at it for a moment longer, then slid the blade into his own scabbard. It fit perfectly.

“I lost my sword in the battle,” he told Kate. “So as a matter of practicality… Of tribute…”

He didn’t know quite how to explain it, but Kate nodded all the same.

“I think Keran would have liked that,” she said. She looked at the sword a moment longer, then looked sharply away.

“I’m so sorry about Keran,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry I didn’t save him. I’m so sorry about all those eighty-four…”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Cullen told her, firmly. “You were the one who got us out of this mess. If anyone is to blame here, it’s me.”

Kate looked at him in surprise.

“How was this your fault?” she wanted to know.

“I ought to have prepared better,” Cullen said. “Built walls for a start. Haven was no place to make a stand.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Kate said, reaching out a hand as though she might touch his shoulder. “Corypheus had a _dragon_ , Cullen. And he had an army of red templars. How in Andraste’s name were you supposed to plan for _that_?”

“All the same, it should not have happened that way,” Cullen insisted. “You should not have been left behind.”

“Left behind?” Kate blinked.

“In Haven,” Cullen clarified. “While I fled with the others.”

Kate cocked her head slightly to the side.

“But that was the plan, Cullen. We both agreed to it.”

Cullen opened his mouth, but no further words came out. Kate raised her brows expectantly, as if to say ‘Well wasn’t it?’

And just like that, Cullen felt as though she’d lifted a heavy weight off of his shoulders. He hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying that load. For when that second avalanche had buried Haven, Cullen had felt crushing guilt descend upon him. Josephine and Leliana had Cassandra had been busy elsewhere. He alone had carried out Kate’s plan. He alone had signaled for her death.

At least, that was how it had felt. But now that Kate had returned, the story read differently. His actions had not been not cowardly and reckless. Rather, Cullen had carried out his half of a joint mission. He had been part of a bigger picture, a bigger plan. He and Kate had shared the burden of command together - and they shared the guilt of command, too. It was a heavy responsibility, but Cullen wasn’t carrying it alone.

“Thank the Maker you returned,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Without you… Well, this was terrible, but it could have been much worse. You saved us, Kate.” He paused, then added, slowly, as an afterthought:

“You saved _me_.”

Kate looked away and tucked a strand of flyaway hair behind her ear. “It was nothing,” she said. “I mean, you know how it was. It just sort of… happened.”

“I do know and it didn’t just happen,” Cullen said, determined to make her see. “Look, I’ve been rescued a time or two before. Usually by mages, come to think of it. Ironic, that. But those mages were always on their way to some other quest. I was just lucky that they passed my way. They saved me by chance. But you, Kate. You’re the first person who ever tried to shield me or protect me or…”

Cullen didn’t know how to conclude this rambling. He now wondered why he had brought it up in the first place.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he finished.

Kate looked at him as if he were daft. “Of course I did, Cullen. You’re my friend.”

“I…” Cullen felt something crash into him.

“And you would have done the same if our positions had been reversed,” Kate persisted. “I know you would have.”

“Of course,” Cullen said, his throat tight.

“Of course,” Kate agreed. “It’s just what friends do.”

 _Is that what friends do_ , Cullen wondered? If so, he’d never had such a friend before. By that reckoning, Kate was easily the best and closest friend that Cullen had ever known. She was also good company. She made him laugh. And when he talked to her, he occasionally forgot his learned formality and slipped into something comfortable and connected. And yet, Cullen thought, friendship alone could not explain all that. For when he was around Kate, he felt his chest go tight and hot, and his nerves sort of tingled. When she was around him, he felt… What was it exactly? He felt…

There it was, Cullen thought. He felt. He _felt_ things for Kate - a lot of things. Confusing things. He felt attraction and admiration and respect and trust as well. And all these feelings were mixed together so peculiarly that he had little hope of sorting them out. He hardly even knew what to call this thing that had grown up between them.

It might be more than friendship, Cullen thought. But it was no less than friendship, either. And out of respect for Kate’s friendship, Cullen dared not say anything that might make her feel uncomfortable. He wasn’t about to muck things up just because he felt a lot of complex, confusing things on this complex, confusing night. Whatever this was between him and Kate, he did not want to lose it. He did not want to lose _her_.

Kate smiled at him then - a wistful sort of smile. Cullen had the sudden impulse to reach out and stroke Kate’s cheek.

 _Blast,_ he thought. Speaking of things that might muck this up…

“I should get going,” he said, standing abruptly.

“Oh, I…” Kate scrambled to her feet as well. “Will I see you later?” Her voice sounded a bit strange - less like that of the Herald and more like that of an uncertain girl.

“Of course I will,” she said a moment later, wincing at her own question. “We’re both in the Inquisition and I, er… Thank you, Cullen.”

She held out her hand, as if to shake his. Though Cullen had no idea what she was thanking him for, he automatically replied, “You’re quite welcome,” and took her hand in his. But Cullen wasn’t wearing gloves, and neither was Kate. And he remembered this just as they touched, skin to skin.

Fire swept through him. The heat began in his fingers, ran swiftly through his wrist, up his arm and burst inside his chest. Cullen took a short, sharp breath, for in that moment, the feel of her was burned into his nerves and into his mind. Kate’s hand was warm and rough, which surprised him. But he supposed her callouses must have come from training, and though she favored ice spells, she was still flesh and blood. Tantalizingly so, Cullen thought. He was now vividly aware of the heat of her.

Cullen attempted to smile, but it probably came off as a grimace. He tried to squeeze her hand lightly, but the movement came off jerky. Kate gave Cullen a startled look and quickly pulled her fingers away. She folded her hands primly before her, glowing left hand in the newly-healed right.

“Well then,” she said, a bit breathlessly. “That was very, um… Well. I suppose I ought to get some rest and you… You probably ought to get some rest, too.”

“Er, yes,” Cullen said. He flexed his right hand at his side to try and stop it from shaking. He quickly stepped away from Kate and into the doorway. The night air was cool at his back. Cullen gave Kate a short, formal bow.

“Until dawn, Herald,” he told her.

Kate wrinkled her nose. “Oh, please don’t,” she frowned. “Please don’t call me that. After everything we’ve been through…”

She said no more, but Cullen nodded all the same. She was right, of course. After everything they’d been through…

“No titles,” he agreed. “Until dawn then, Kate.”

Kate gave him a soft look - a wondering look. Cullen wanted to read into it, to see admiration and feeling there - but he dared not. So he merely held Kate’s eyes as she replied:

“And you, too, Cullen. Until dawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO much for joining me on this fanfiction journey. Whether you followed this story as it progressed or just discovered it now (whenever ‘now’ may be), thank you for reading!
> 
> If you are interested in Part 2 (yes, I do plan for a part 2 - and possibly more), please subscribe to this site or [my SageFic tumblr](http://tumblr.sagefic.com/) or [SageFic.com](http://sagefic.com/), my personal site, maintained by my awesome husband, Bladewarden.
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> Also, please feel free to drop me a note saying ‘hi’ or tell me what you thought of this fiction or even just say ‘wow I actually read all of that and it was long.’ (Because yeah. This got long.) Like all fanfic writers I love my readers and comments from my readers and just readers in general. Thank you all SO MUCH for your support!
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> Love and gratitude and fanfic,  
> Sage


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